


Roco

by wesninskids



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Multi, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 164,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesninskids/pseuds/wesninskids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House-sharing issues, cold pizza, broken cars, midnight naps, 5 a.m. porn, severe existential crisis in the toilets, stinking couch, empty fridge, always late, dirty laundry, sloppy sex (with socks), out-of-date orange juice, complaining neighbors, loud garage rock music and intensive giggling sessions, shower pranks, bleached hair, drunk pick-up lines, early afternoon naps, shitty jobs, empty beer cans, nothing on the TV, mexican food, compulsive masturbation, messy rooms and angry boys, high sex drive, white nights, grocery store fights, illegal 2 a.m. swimming in private properties, dirty sweatshirts, morning alcohol, no dogs, maybe a cat, literal and figurative assholes, late night ice-cream and tomato soup, unpaid bills, printed t-shirts, toasts falling on the wrong side, desperate flirting rush, bad hangovers, always rainy, irresponsible kids, marijuana, crappy rap mixtapes, just friends (that’s what they all say), midnight burgers and empty parking lots, bad comedy movies with low budget and awful lines, putrid pasta and dead gold fishes, debates on the pillow, huge lack of vaginas, unfinished cigarettes, video games naked, and way too much swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the one with cereals and alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> Not much of a college AU tbh but that's a detail right?
> 
> Alright I call this thing Roco for short. I'm [oxymorts](http://oxymorts.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.
> 
> It's basically Eremin based so it'll be between normal romance shit and slow-built, and there'll probably be more relationships to come. _Blink 182_ is their anthem. For those who wonder, the story's set in 2013's South Side of Chicago, but I took this decision lately, therefore, some edits on the first chapters are most likely needed.
> 
> Also high five to Nick for being an adorable, inspirational and so important little shit on a daily basis. You're the fuel to this story.
> 
> Roco's playlist is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

We’re losers. Always have been.

Don’t listen to those who tell you life past twenty is fresh and new and is worth every damn mistake and insert shit here. We’re not in a cartoon; when you fall from the hill, you fall for good. But that’s alright. It’s alright if there’s no voice-over nor the ultimate nine lives life gauge that actually never ends, because being twenty is not fresh or new or worth every damn mistake, but it’s all you’ve got when you’re, you know, twenty.

Actually, I’m twenty one. Eren’s twenty-three but he likes to pretend he’s older than me, like, _mature_ and shit. Jean’s twenty-four. But we’re still kids anyway. Fucking immature kids eating cereals in front of the TV at 7 AM because there’s legitimately nothing better to do, and it’s always been the case. Finding a job? Done. I work in a vintage music slash video game store when I’m not at university, and both Eren and Jean used to clean pools during summer to earn some money. Yeah, _used_ to, because they quickly have been out of clients—they were too loud and fighting half of the time. I blame their bad temper and they call bullshit.

They’re still searching for the good job, the right one, the one that will pay the bills and kill time on the long-term. All we’ve got for the moment, though, is bad wi-fi and orange juice, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t drink that because it’s been in the fridge for way too long and to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if Eren threw up in the toilets one hour before sunrise because a) this idiot is capable of getting himself pregnant and b) this fucking orange juice is probably expired.

10/10 would recommend.

(Cute lifestyle ain't it.)

Sharing the bathroom isn’t the worst, neither is sharing the fridge because in the end, we always end up eating chips or going out to pick up something at fast foods, more likely the one where Marco’s working, and thank God he never forgets to put the sauces in the goddamn bag.

No, definitely isn’t that. The worst is to constantly live on the edge of cool roommates and a second Mum, even if Eren’s a crappy one. I guess he’s like, my best friend or something? We never had the official talk about it, the one during which you both actually clearly decide you’re bros forever. Despite arguing, it was kind of an obvious thing, so, yeah. But the thing is, when you live with someone, parents or not, there are things you have to do, for your safety or just your sanity.

First of all, always fucking lock the door when you’re doing what God wants you to do out there. Always wear headphones, don’t even try to put the volume low without it plugged, because soundproofing sucks and it will always betray you—and you probably don’t want your roommates to know by heart your precious schedules and preferences, do you? Yeah, thought so. And when they knock at the door to check that you’re still alive, because you haven't come downstairs in twenty-four hours except for stealing a thousandth bag of chips and accessorily a jar of pickles (and pissing, also), don’t say anything and pretend you’re sleeping—or dead.

I’ll tell you: actually, we have two toilets. But God and the neighbourhood decided to change that, the day Connie, living in the house next to ours with his loud girlfriend (in every way), crashed at our place at the end of the day and used the toilets downstairs. No one knows what happened, and Connie was too drunk to even remember pissing at all, much less here. We didn’t have enough skills to fix it and the plumber we called for this never came.

Now, we literally put everything in this little space. Eren’s old porn magazines from high school times, which he never managed to throw away, Jean’s old bicycle (and no one knows what it’s doing there) or Marco’s baseball bat he gave me one day for “emergency cases” since Eren broke mine during one of those slightly not-under-control drunken parties. Marco and I used to play baseball together in high school. Yeah, 'cause Marco's only a year older than me, and it makes me sick to realize he seems even older. Maybe it's that I'm as physically developped as a ten year old.

And these—these were the years. I can almost remember every detail as if it were yesterday, as if I had just come back from a long and tiresome training, sweating, hot and sore. Grandpa’s television in the background, the only lively sound in the entire house. I’d put my bat near the door and I’d go upstairs to give up on life on my bed, wondering which class I’d skip the next day.

No, really, living together can be the worst, and you can’t ever leave your stuff in the bathroom. Okay, we’re all guys, and last time I checked (although I didn’t really) we all got penises. Cool. That’s amazing. But don’t fucking leave your thing in the bathroom. You’ll probably never see it again. I'm not talking about your penis.

Toothbrush? Gross, but, okay. Towels? Well, that’s a risk you’re taking, but you’re an asshole who’d probably forget to bring it before showering, and you’d probably end up wet, Naked And Afraid without anything to dry yourself (and safely go to your room) with. Take your pants with you. I used to think they’d be safe because, you know, who the hell steals fucking undies? That's disgusting and weird and all but civilized. But… yeah. One day I found Jean wearing one of my underpants and this day changed my life. Not necessarily in the good way.

And the _goddamn_ food. You’re twenty-one. You live with hairy, horny monsters wandering around while saying bad jokes (except for me because I’d always choose smart jokes therefore, nobody would ever understand a damn thing, and it was worth a fuckton of serotonin to be honest)—the fridge is the heart of the house. Don’t buy food. Let others buy it. Steal it. And if it’s your turn to go to the grocery store, then buy food for them so they’ll leave yours alone and safe. And then pray. Because it’s too hot in there to keep it in your room and you’d eat it all anyway.

I have a good amount of advice, but you don’t need to know all of them and they all suck anyway.

Alright, I was bullshitting. Now’s the real matter.

I fell asleep on a toilet today. That shouldn’t be surprising because I fall asleep everywhere so it’s no big deal. But I fell asleep on a toilet. You feel me. I was half naked and my head hit the wall and I still managed to fall asleep on a goddamn stinking toilet, my body twisted in the least comfortable position and angle, my asshole still held prisoner.

It was around 5 AM and for once, I didn’t need porn or crappy 80s movies to go to sleep, except I would have liked to taste the softness of my sheets before closing my eyes.

Anyway. When I woke up, I couldn’t feel my ass and the side of my head was probably flat by now. They call me an adult and I silently nod because I know it’s full bullshit.

But more seriously. The question for you, girls, isn’t ‘will he cheat on me’ or whatever. It’s ‘am I ready to share my apartment, bathroom, fridge, bed and intimacy with this loser?’ yeah, it’s the ultimate question, and I don’t think the answer would be fair because honestly, none of you really want a loser like us in any of these places. You’d be an idiot to require it anyway.

Let’s take Eren. He cut the sleeves of half of his shirts because he thinks it’s cool and more useful than throwing away ugly clothes he hates. He sings in the shower every time. He’s a total virgin and he keeps complaining about how hungry he is after swallowing a whole pack of chips at 4 am.

Eren’s mouth is a black hole.

If you don’t believe me about us being losers, then look at us right now. Look closely. Him sitting on the ground, me on the sofa, Eren watching TV like he cared and me trying to figure the fuck out of this crappy game on an old _Nintendo_ nobody even sells anymore. Out of the market. 2004 or something. I don’t even know whose _Nintendo_ it is.

Eren was eating cereals, leaning his back against the bottom of the couch, and he was so loud I couldn’t help but wonder how he still managed to hear a single thing on the TV. He probably didn’t.

“What are you watching?”

I heard Eren swallow, then he put down his spoon in his bowl and frowned for himself.

“A dumb kids cartoon.” He paused, not really sure, but went on anyway. “Looks like it’s fucking full of sexual innuendos.”

I laughed silently before shaking my head and one second later, Eren was looking up at me with huge, serious eyes. He looked pretty stupid.

Then I got distracted by the thing on TV, Jimmy Neutron or whatever, and watched as the adults scoffed at the kids’ mention of the word banana. What the fuck.

“No, really. Did you know there’s a subliminal message in the Lion King?”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I swear,” he insisted, and for a moment, I was sure he’d, like, check if we hadn’t the movie in our DVD collection. Thank God we didn’t. “There’s a real controversy ‘bout it. At one point in the movie, there’s the word 'sex' written in smoke.”

He lifted his eyebrows and laid on me an expecting gaze. What the hell did he want me to say? To _that_?

Somehow I understand why Eren never managed to get a job, though he never really tried. All he can talk about is bullshit, bullshit and bullshit.

“Okay, alright,” I sighed. Eren and his fucking anecdotes, right. You can trust him when it comes to sharing useless, random facts about life, sex and pretty much everything. “If you say so Eren.” But I knew he was stubborn enough to keep trying to convince me, though I didn’t really care, so I quickly went on. “You know, it’s your turn to go to the grocery.”

I knew it would be enough to distract him from whatever he was about to say, and he quickly turned away from the TV, frowning even deeper than my mother would, like it was the most obvious shit in the world.

“Nah, I’m busy today.”

Let me _fucking_ laugh.

“Yeah, pissing, sleeping and searching for junk food in the abyss of the empty fridge. If that’s what you call busy then maybe I should start using the same excuse.”

I was bitter, of course, because Eren didn’t want to do all he was expected to do. I could relate, though—I was just as bad. We weren’t adults, we weren’t responsible, we barely cared enough to open our eyes in the morning. No future. No ambition. No girlfriend. No job, for some of us.

We were lost kids trying to find something in life, anything, literally anything would do the trick. The sex we never had, the things we couldn’t afford, the jobs we never found.

“Where’s Jean?” he stupidly asked as if it could help his case.

“Sleeping, dumbass.” It was this time of the night when it wasn’t quite the day, but where the night was slowly backing away. A calm, dark kind of blue was fading out in the sky, and it felt weirdly pleasant to be there, doing nothing with him—God knows that’s what we’ve always been doing anyway. “It’s not even 8 am.”

“Yeah, right,” he thoughtfully said.

I just looked at him. He seemed tired, but not really—more like he was constantly thinking about something, and never ever allowed himself to let go of it. It was easier to think that Eren wasn’t a wise-thinker, though; it was so much easier to pretend he was only being an asshole and doing crappy stuff because he was an idiot. It would be too intriguing, too complicated otherwise.

We just, I don’t know—had a cruel lack of good luck. Nobody told me about the shit that's going on when your baby is born, perhaps there are some kind of rituals in which you decide whether or not your kid will be a loser, whether or not he will succeed in life. 

Eren and I weren’t ones to win at these kind of fortuity games. At all. That’s exactly why we were living under the same roof, for the same shitty reasons.

Family. Money. Social factors. Dare I say outcasts?

“Hey,” I called him out, because he looked lost somewhere between his goddamn cartoon and his own thoughts. “Wanna go out for a bit?” He slowly turned in my direction like I was some kind of sick animal. Probably was—for asking this, at least. “I mean—the fridge’s empty and we’ve got nothing better to do after all. Not eating cereals in front of a kid’s channel.”

“Armin, the sun isn’t even up.”

“It’s the freaking _winter_ , what are you expecting?”

“Are you serious? We’re not going out now. We’re not going out at all.”

“Come on, you’re not funny Eren.”

For a second, he just stayed silent, looking at me in the same way kids do. Kids are really, really scary creatures. I hate it.

I assumed he was trying to weigh how much it was worth it. It probably wasn’t worth it to be honest, but as I said, we had absolutely nothing better to do. I could at least force him to fill the fridge like he was supposed to, and take advantage of some fresh air at the same time. Not seeing people at this early hour was not an insubstantial bonus and I was fully aware of that.

I’m not totally antisocial, though. Like buddy Bukowski said, after all, I don’t hate people—I just feel better when they’re not around. Asocial is a better term for my situation.

Strangely enough, Eren was a pure idiot and still, it wasn’t the same thing. Guess he had the same problem—but he genuinely hated people. And can you get along with people who share the same fucked up issues?

“Okay.” Eren nonchalantly scratched his shoulder, underneath his (undoubtedly filthy) shirt and put his bowl down. “But you’ll owe me some.”

Bullshit. It wasn’t a request, it was a helping hand, and a nice one.

He sighed, loudly enough to convince me he was exaggerating, but he got up anyway and left his cereals on the carpet like nothing had happened. I heard his not-so quiet footsteps in the stairs and assumed he was going to change himself, because after all, he hadn’t been out or hadn’t showered for four days at least. I wasn’t much better.

He only returned fifteen minutes later, because he probably went to the toilets in the meantime, and God only knows what Eren does in the toilets, some scary shit. Actually, I was pretty sure he was doing nothing else than sitting on it and thinking about meaningless, random things, just waiting even after he’d be done. But then again don't we all.

I looked up and stared at him. Yep, he seemed like the type to have an existencial crisis on the shit-throne.

Jean’s car was cold and we thanked the fortuity that half of our wardrobes were full of ugly, old and itchy 90’s shirts, and while I was wearing a white and green Christmas grandpa shirt, Eren had his oh-so famous blue oversized thing, so old it had nothing left of a sweater. It had holes near the collar but it looked nice on him.

We totally looked like hobos.

Good thing I didn’t care. Not enough, at least.

“So,” Eren started as he landed on the driver seat, breathing out a tiny mist. “Where are we going? The shop near the bank?”

“Nope. Supermarket.”

He waited a moment, like I knew he would, before leaning back against the seat as I put my feet on the glove thingy.

“Why?”

“Because it’s fucking 7 AM and it’s pretty much the only thing open at this time. Besides, we can stay in the car while eating shit.” He didn’t say anything, so I went on. “You know, staying there instead of waking Jean up. I mean—when was the last time we did something like that?”

“ _Ages_ ,” he admitted, and I knew it was his own way of saying yes.

So he started the car and pulled off the lifeless alley. The whole neighbourhood looked like a cemetery on an almost rainy day.

Technically, it was illegal, because Jean, Eren and I had dangerous habits of getting drunk together when we probably shouldn’t—and in general—and Eren ended up losing his driving license during one of the nose nightly escapades. I couldn’t lose the license I didn’t have.

Never found the time and money to get it again, so Eren gave up. Eren didn’t have a car and I didn’t know how to drive.

“You fucking stink,” he said.

“You’re one to talk,” I said back.

And I laughed. Just a second, gently, like a distant souvenir floating in my mind and bringing back old, forgotten sensations I thought I had lost. But there were no souvenirs, other than those I had already forgotten. Eren and I had been living the same life for years now, one day added to the count couldn’t make a damn difference.

And, to be honest, I couldn’t quite recall the day it all started. The day we moved in together, the three of us. The day I decided that being an adult wasn’t worth it—or maybe it was Eren who persuaded me later. In all cases, it sucks.

Jean and Eren were the first here. I graduated high school and spent the following summer vacation wondering what I’d do with my life. Grandpa wanted me to go the college, and I felt the pressure of failure burning my insides every time I looked at him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, right. Or my parents. Same shit.

Eren was my only friend, always had been. At this time, he was sharing the house with Jean and they were both struggling to find jobs and money. I decided to go to college, but the lack of motivation left a hole in my chest, and Eren suggested I’d move in with them to help pay rent and make the whole thing less boring. Sometimes I think he told me this only to make sure he wouldn't murder Jean and spend the rest of his life in jail.

I took the last room, the one at the end of the corridor. It’s quiet, peaceful, far away from everything—the loud plumbing and Eren jerking off, or Jean talking in his sleep. They used to put the music too loud.

Anyway, it sucks because we were still kids and had no idea what to do. And nobody was going to explain it to us instead.

“Did Mikasa call?”

He looked through the window and fell silent. I didn’t need to be a smartass to know it meant a big, painful no.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to make her so ang—“

“She’s not,” he interrupted without taking his gaze off the landscape, still dark, grey and sleepy outside. “She’s not as passive aggressive as I am. I’m not even sure she gives a fuck. She’s just waiting for me to admit that I’m bored as hell without her.”

Sounded like Mikasa after all.

“And are you?”

Silence everywhere. He took a deep, tired breath.

“I guess.”

Pride is contagious.

I kept my attention on the empty road even when I felt his head turning in my direction. His jaw was clenched and he looked serious. He watched me in silence and I wondered if I should say something, if he wanted me to say something, and finally opted for the wise remedy; pretending not to care.

Involving myself in Eren’s bullshit wasn’t what I was here for. But what was I here for, hey?

I didn’t want to hear about his crappy life, or the job he still hadn’t, or the girlfriend he would probably never find. At best, a one night stand—and not in the best conditions. You screw in a dark alley, or in the bathroom at a friend’s party, sloppy with an old condom you weren’t quite sure you still had; but the alcohol will erase every single sensation from your mind anyway, and in the end, you’ll be the same fucking idiot you were twenty-four hours before that.

No I didn’t want to hear about how unfair like is, because it was just as unfair with me, and I could completely relate. I wasn’t a goddamn psychologist or his girlfriend, I was his roommate, life-wrecking companion and I’d even say friend. Yes, we were friends.

The complete, clean silence left everything to the imagination. I could picture us in the same car, at the same time, with the only exception there would be The Smiths echoing all around, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to calm our stupid, immature souls.

Eren used to listen to crappy hip hop and at some extent, crappy pop songs he wouldn’t quite admit he liked. But we all had that dark, guilty side, right? I mean who has never sung Madonna’s lyrics when it came to the radio? Come on. We all, somehow, like this bullshit. I think.

While Jean liked the good old rock now forgotten and buried, I was more into the passive depressive shit and independant bands. The punk, the alternative nobody would still listen to, or the songs you used to hear on the radio when you were too young to even know what tastes mean. I can still remember Dad sitting next to the TV, a small light in the corner, a cigarette in the hand and newspaper on his knees.

But that’s not important. The only thing you need to know about reality asides from “it fucking sucks,” is that nothing’s really important. It may seem like it’s essential, and sometimes it can get overwhelming, but as long as you’re alive it’s meaningless crap.

You’re just doing normal, boring stuff like normal, boring people.

The supermarket was, as I assumed it would be, lifeless as could be. We joyfully got out of the car, parked in the middle of the massive parking lot, with nothing else around but empty places and caddies stock.

“What are we looking for?” Eren lazily asked, hands lost in his so-deep pockets, and I caught a glimpse of the bottom of his jeans dragged on the filthy floor.

Man, Eren couldn’t even wear stuff in his own size. He looked like a little girl in a daddy suit. Though it was no suit—and I was no better.

“As far as I know, we don’t have anything to drink left aside from expired milk and tasteless water.”

“Right, right,” he sang with just as much energy as he did several seconds ago.

Eren was so immature I could feel like a twisted version of Mikasa, with a penis, a pale face, blond hair and a disturbing affection for absolutely nothing. Though I wasn’t really sure about Mikasa, because after all these crazy years of failed seduction, Jean still couldn’t come to the conclusion that she was a girl under the belt. Man, he wished he could. But either he was cruelly lacking the charm she was looking for, or she was a lesbian.

Weirdly enough, he liked the second option better.

But maybe it was just his overwhelming manhood speaking. Lesbians—that’s some cool shit.

“Oh no—don’t tell me we’re buying this shit again,” he pointed at the bottle in my hand.

“Shut up.”

Blackcurrant juice, yep. I still don’t know how I came to like it.

He made a disgusted face and I walked past him towards the next aisle. I didn’t need to ask to know Eren didn’t know what to buy, he’d always forget something anyway. He cringed but didn’t think further, and I heard lazy steps behind me.

Mostly, Eren and I had the same tastes. We liked the same food, the same movies and the same pizza. Neither of us gave a damn about trends, and we’d most likely end up sharing our clothes all the time—and he definitely wouldn’t refrain himself if the idea of watching porn on my laptop even came though his twisted goddamn mind. We liked the same porn anyway.

Glad I didn’t have Facebook; Eren would be capable of posting a porno on my page just to tell me to check it out. He didn’t care.

But, yeah. We shared the same opinions on almost everything. Only difference, maybe, is that he definitely thinks Jean is an asshole. Pretty sure that’s because they’re both stupid.

“Hey!” Eren called out of the blue as he wandered near the end of the range. “I heard Reiner's throwing a party next week.”

“Eren,” I warned, but who would I be to think he gave a shit.

“You’re busy with college and Marco’s got his new job at the drive-thru but—“

“Eren.”

“What?” he finally growled as he turned around, sounding offended like a whimsical kid. He walked backwards without watching behind, to catch my disapproving glare. “It’ll be cool. We’re not having any fun lately.”

“Yeah well maybe you should get a job and when you’ll have that we’ll talk about fun. I know it sucks,” I started, but finally, chose not to go on. Because, that was it—it sucks, that’s all. Nothing to add. Short and succinct.

Not to mention Jean didn’t have a job either. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if he was studying, but he isn’t. But I understand. I hate it. All of it. Working. Getting up early in the morning to go to these boring class that won’t teach me anything because I already know it all. Condescending people thinking degrees are going to lead them anywhere. 

Being smart is a boring life.

But, yeah, we were only paying the bills thanks to each other’s parents because I couldn’t earn enough to do so, and to be honest, it was pretty humiliating. At least we shared the same situation, and we were too stubborn to go back to our parents’ places. So that’s about it.

Once you get the fuck out of your house, you must never go back. Never. Or you’ll never leave again. Haven’t you watched _Tanguy_? You should, man, you should; scary shit, I’m not kidding. I don't want to wake up at thirty-five years old and hear my mum asking if I want any breakfast. Even though that's a scenario which, clearly, could not happen in my life.

At least, we could still embrace the illusion of being independant, right?

“Why not,” he whined while taking a box of cereals in his hands and barely hesitating before throwing it into my arms.

I sighed and locked the box under my arm to keep the rest balanced. Eren didn’t bother to hold a single thing.

“Because we’re not in high school anymore.” I looked around as we passed another empty, lifeless range. Everything was silent. “We should grow the fuck up.”

Key-word: _should_.

Back into the car half an hour later, the sky was barely clearer than when we had arrived. It was still blue, plain blue—dark and calm, without any clouds, any stars.

We threw the rice, beans and eggs, white bread, meat, pasta, fruit juices, and the fuckton of soda in the backseat. Nothing particular, except from a pack of candy. Thanks Eren, at least you paid.

I opened the window and hesitated. Was it worth smoking a cigarette? I couldn’t quite find an answer to this question, thus I ended up not smoking at all. Didn’t like smoking anyway.

Eren just put his hands on the steering wheel, looking at the supermarket’s lights, and everything either dead or sleeping around us. He turned around and growled ’til he’d catch the bread, awkwardly close to my face as he twisted, then he started eating it slice after slice.

“Hey, found something?”

Eren probably assumed I was talking about job interviews, because he slowly shook his head and stopped chewing for a while. They never brought anything good, only disappointing "sorry, we’ve found someone already"'s, or "sorry, you’re not skilled enough"'s—well, that’s what it always means right. Murphy’s law. But who would hire hobos like us anyway, huh? The only reason why I had this stupid job is because they were desperate and nobody else applied. Back then I was still a teenager and the owner thought I'd be more able to connect with the merchandise. "Your generation", he said. Lucky it’s in a lost, filthy neighbourhood.

While everyone around us seemed to be learning to deal with their problems, we just couldn’t face ours. Lame or unfair, that’s up to you—I personally opted for unfair but hey, that’s my choice.

I shouldn’t be talking though. I was the only one in the trio going to school and having a job. What would look like a total dream back in high school was actually the worst nightmare. No job, no money. Well, school is optional.

I mean not everyone likes to listen to assholes all day long, and being told the same shit every day. It gets too boring too quickly.

Eren didn’t seem like the hard-working type unless he was doing something he had interest in (nothing much, actually) and I never had the skills required for anything. I’m smart, that’s all. I know theories but I lack practice. People like me can write tons of dissertations and essays but they can't deal with real life and important issues. I'm the abstract side of human intelligence.

My high school years? Skipping class with Eren and sometimes Marco, and when Eren graduated, I found other ways to cope. I was still the same shit skipping class because I honestly thought I didn’t need it, and I was right. I did nothing you should do when you want your future to have a colour. Sometimes I ask myself if that's why I'm here now, but I know there's absolutely no correlation. It's just fate. And bad luck. And a very, very shitty timing -- but life's not that bad around here.

I felt like changing the subject when Eren broke the silence.

“Actually, yes.”

Our eyes met, he hesitated. Maybe he thought I'd mock or discard it right away.

“Nanaba said she might have something for me.”

I gave Eren all the attention he deserved though. Because him searching for a job — and _actually_ getting one — was something to celebrate. “Hm?”

“Yeah. She needs someone to help her fix the cars and stuff. And since I know a few things…” He opened wider the pack of white bread and grabbed another slice, eyes firmly closed when he took the first bite. It seemed dry and boring without anything to eat it with, but I admit he also looked like he was enjoying it a little too much and it made me hungry.

I snorted.

Learning how to drive, that’s something he had learned recently, and he had already lost his license because he was driving too fast, or drunk, or both.

Eren was the less logical asshole out there. But maybe Nanaba would help him get his license back. Of course, it wouldn’t be quite legal, because Eren would start driving cars all around and stuff, but Nanaba wouldn’t care. Actually, aside from her garage, she didn’t care much about anything.

Neither her appearance, nearly forty years old with a tomboy style and oil stains on her shirt, nor her lifestyle, still single—and the last thing she wanted was a man to waste her time.

No, really, she was the kind of woman not to regret anything, even the bad choices she made. Not that she made any, though.

She was smart, funny, and sometimes, she would even give you the impression that she liked you. Other than that, she was living thanks to something she liked, and there was no one to tell her what to do. Independent, grown-ass chick. She'd built her own car mechanic service and she knew what she was doing with it.

Not a life goal, but almost.

“Funny,” he said before taking another bite.

“Are you sure about that?”

He chewed in silence, before swallowing and looking at me with tired, half-closed eyes. I bet my ass he hadn’t slept last night. However, no one here really had a reasonable, healthy lifestyle or sleeping pattern in this house. Except Jean. He slept too much.

I noticed the bags under his eyes and looked away.

“Yeah—she said she was the only one she trusted enough to let me wander around and touch her precious babies. Her words.”

“Will she pay you?”

“Of course,” he frowned like I was dumb, like working without money at the end of the line was a stupid joke; although it probably would be. “You really think I’d do anything for free? Damn it.”

Man, here was I.

No girlfriend and a job I didn’t like, and yet he was a detail away from getting a job he did like. As for the girlfriend matter, Mikasa was closer to that than anything else. I knew for a fact that they never ever did anything, beside maybe kissing, because, you know, alcohol and teenage hormones, and they'd known each other for ages. But Eren didn’t like her more than that. I couldn’t speak for Mikasa, though. She cared more about Eren than anyone else on the goddamn planet, which sometimes remained a mystery to me. Because they did argue all the time, and they had nothing much in common.

“So, you’ll really do this, huh?”

He shrugged, and just before putting the last piece of bread in his mouth, changed his mind and sighed.

“I don’t know. I guess.” A black, tiny car arrived at the corner and he watched as it went past us. “Cars are cool. And Nanaba -- she’s nice.”

Jean’s parents have a fuckton of money. They look like they don’t, but they really do. Jean’s dad works for a big international group and his job consists of developing other companies. He earns more than he really needs. As for Jean’s mom, she’s a teacher in a boarding school, regularly being donated money from rich, pretentious parents whose only job is to turn their kids into the abandoned ships of their past wasted selves, in younger, richer, smarter forms.

Our parents are all helping to pay the rent and the bills and insert shit here. What I mean is, Jean has a plan B, he’s backed up—we have nothing. This is our only option. If they cut the money thing, we get kicked out by the landlord, and we're fucking dead.

But you know, that’s the price of being an adult right (or pretending to be one). The cost of independence, quitte literally. And ironically too.

“Are you going to tell Mikasa?”

Eren looked down at his bread and for a second, I wondered if he would answer me.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. I mean, I don’t wanna give her the satisfaction of being right.”

“But she is.” Half question, half statement.

“She is,” he confirmed, and knowing how proud this fucker was, he meant it.

“Then tell her. Maybe she’ll change your mind about you.”

Eren gave me a questioning look.

“About what?”

“About you being a loser,” I laughed, softly, and tried to dodge the punch he immediately threw my way.

Fact is, I was one to talk. I was a mess, and so was Eren. Without Nanaba, things wouldn’t change for the least. He needed that little kick and he knew that.

“So, when do you start?”

“Haven’t given her my answer yet.” He paused, chewing what was in his mouth before talking again. “But it might take a few days anyways, she said she had shit to do before having me around.”

He opened the bottle of orange juice and took a silent sip, then offered it to me. I took it after a second or two.

“Remember that time when we made caddie races with Jean?” He was smiling, that kind of smile that could split his face in two, and wide enough to reach his ears. He looked like shit, filthy and exhausted, but having him in a good mood wasn’t that bad. I liked when he seemed happy and nostalgic. “I think I broke something that day.”

And suddenly we weren’t in the car anymore — we were outside, under the tiny moon, trying as hard as we could not to end up at the hospital, yet not caring enough to give a damn. We were kids, and we still are. But these were good memories.

“Yeah, and you almost ruined a car.”

I closed my eyes.

Indeed.

I laughed because the memories were somehow still vivid and I could easily remember the light sensation of being drunk in the middle of the night. The worst could have happened, that day — an accident, me breaking a car that wasn’t ours, or Eren crashing his face against the concrete, or even me running into a moving car, or Jean standing naked in the middle of the road, waiting for something to collide.

But the worst never happened because we were idiots by nature. We were born like that. Genuine idiots never get anything — they just get away with it. Immortal. 

They survive natural disasters, they fight cancers and they always end up alive, safe and sound no matter what.

Mostly.

The souvenir of myself throwing up in the middle of the parking lot felt too real, and I cringed silently, slowly shaking my head, weirdly lulled by Eren’s distant laugh.

I didn’t have a great alcohol tolerance. Well, neither did Eren anyway.

But in the trio, I was the one. The happy kind of drunk. The dude who always ends up awake and joyful, no matter how much he’d throw up. And holy shit, I did it _a lot_.

“I’m happy we never went to this place again,” Eren giggled with bread in his mouth. I could recognize the white thing behind a nearly close alley of white teeth. “Dude, they had fucking security cameras! We could have gotten caught and shit.”

I honestly think they did, because we're not that smart. They just probably thought we weren't worth it. I put my elbow on the open window as a smile fought for its rights on my face. Eventually, I ended up chuckling like an idiot, as much as you could at still 8 am.

We got back to the house and Jean was awake. Awake, but sleepy and oblivious, sitting next to the kitchen island like he had no idea what he was doing here and how he had gotten there. Eren sat by his sides, laughing his ass off. Nothing happened, the world—well, the town was waking up, and there was silence everywhere. Nothing happened until something snapped and Eren ended up with his arms around Jean, trying really hard to straighten the guy before he would smash his own face on his bowl, still full of out-dated cereals.

And surprisingly enough, we did go the party Eren was talking about. It was Tuesday evening, and the streetlights were already off by then. Around midnight, loud human noises muffled by loud music, and garish neon lights piercing windows. No need to be smart to know a party’s happening.

Reiner was at the door when we arrived, Annie at his sides, who barely acknowledged the three of us, not that we did mind too much. Aside from her name, appearance and bad habit of not saying hi or anything, I couldn’t really say I knew her well. Just knew she and Reiner were long-time friends.

It was still early, everyone was warming up. We were too many to gather around a table and start a party without alcohol, so everyone ended up in groups of friends, and we eventually crashed on a free sofa with Jean, Eren, Marco and Sasha. Connie said he’d arrive later, and no one knew what the hell he was doing. I mean as usual.

The first phase of the party was boring, as usual. The music was loud, but not loud enough, and people looked like they were trying hard not to shit on themselves. Eren sighed multiple times. As for Sasha, she didn’t want to waste time and when the party really started, she had already drunk three glasses of a totally unknown, blue cocktail.

Smokers started to smoke, alcoholics kept drinking, and the rest started to do so.

Marco got us drinks and the music got louder. And then, _then_ , I got totally, completely drunk. No surprise.

When Mikasa arrived, it was around one in the morning. _Fast Lane_ was on, and a few people were already off tracks. Eren and I were still going, glass after glass, sip after sip, joke after joke. Jean and Eren started to sympathize (which was the case only when they drank enough), Sasha started to be quiet (which was the case only when she drank enough), and I unavoidably got the drunk mood (which, well... you get the idea).

I threw punches in Eren’s back a few times, just when he was about to drink, and ridiculously thought it was the funniest thing ever, in ages. It seemed like it. Marco laughed so hard he could have thrown up, and Mikasa ignored Eren the whole time with beauty and grace.

I could see she wasn’t that much angry about him, she mostly looked patient, like she knew she was doing the right thing. Eren felt irritated at first, he looked around to find some support, failed, and stuck with me like he usually does -- especially when Mikasa does that stuff.

The music stopped and we heard a loud _bang!_ coming from the kitchen. Laughters followed and Marco lost his shit immediately, and nobody even asked anything. At this moment, everything was normal.

Already seen, already heard, already lived—it was familiar in every way. I loved it.

Jean disappeared around 2 am and I caught Sasha putting Reiner’s cheap cakes in a clean rag before sliding it in her handbag. Once again, nobody questioned, though I doubt anyone had noticed.

The girls went to the bathroom together while laughing on the way, and I ended up alone with a quiet Eren and the most relaxed Marco ever. I think he'd smoked weed.

Marco was working at a drive-thru to save enough money for college. He wasn’t a student yet. He shared funny stories about some of his customers, apparently most of them not having any common sense -- like this random dude, completely high, paying his menu and leaving, forgetting to pick up his food at the last window. Eren followed by bringing back old memories of the three of us in high school.

Not a beautiful sight but weirdly enough, I felt lighter at the mention.

Small Armin with a small face and small ambitions, jerking off twice a day to stay healthy and relaxed, and dying to try the shit everybody was into. Cigarettes, drugs, relationships, action movies, _Nirvana_ , the color black. I knew I was more intelligent than the others, but I didn’t have anything to take advantage of it. Didn’t have many friends. Never did.

Still don’t.

The conversation went silent when Hitch crossed the room, and turned around in the process to smile at me.

The guys waited for her to be out of here to loudly exclaim the same damn thing.

“She likes you.” In two different voices, echoing the other.

Hitch? _Please_.

Hitch likes everyone, as much as she hates them. She likes them for a day, a few hours, a matter of minutes. If I’m worth a smile, then maybe I’ll get all the hate of the world tomorrow, for being worth it ten hours earlier.

Hitch likes cute boys. I’m not that bad. But Hitch likes short-term fame, short-term friendships, and I can’t remember her sticking with a guy long enough to call it a relationship. Even a day would do. But no. Not once.

Therefore, it’s no.

Hitch doesn’t like me. Hitch likes that she can walk through the room and smile at a boy and provoke something like that. Same drunk, high pitches, same confidence coming from arrogant boys. That’s about it.

I saw a dude throwing up in Reiner’s swimming pool through the big window of the living room, and instead of feeling bad, remembered how big Reiner’s house was. Three toilets. Two bathrooms minus the private ones. Five bedrooms. They even had a sport room. Who the fuck has a sport room.

I mean it’s cool, alright, just who. Tell me. I want to know.

Jean came back after a while and Eren caught the hem of my shirt to bring me to Reiner’s kitchen. It was empty, no one here, though some would enter to check if it’s a safe place for making out before leaving in a disappointed sigh, to steal the food in the fridge, or to throw up in the sink because, well, _that was quick and options got shortened as fuck_.

Eren sat on the counter and I looked around for something to drink, something still fresh and deprived of drowned cigarette butts, random food and the weirdest shit you can find at the bottom of a party drink. You wouldn’t believe all that you can find in a bottle of beer at 2 am. If you did, then it means you’re the one who put that in there. Or maybe you were lucky enough to drink it by accident.

When I turned back around, Eren was eating a cupcake, his legs swinging in the void like a kid would do.

“Hitch likes you,” he finally said after licking the pink sugar.

“Bullshit. Stop that,” I sighed and pushed stuff behind me to lean on the edge of the table.

“Hitch likes you, though,” he repeated with a smile.

“Fuck off.”

“Okay,” and he kept eating his cupcake like nothing had ever happened.

“Jean’s weird tonight.”

“Weird cocktails.”

Well, that explains everything right. I mean young adult, or rather, goddamn teenagers do not know how to make cocktails. I don’t even know who did these. I don’t want to know. Probably Reiner. And if it’s Annie, then it’s even worse than Reiner. Because according to her, all alcohols have the same disgusting taste, and I wouldn’t be surprised to have vodka, beer, mint and whisky in one glass.

Holy _shit_.

Eren ate in silence and I took deep breaths. I was drunk, but not drunk enough to feel bad, heavy and about to throw my insides up. After some time, Sasha came in and her face shone from relief when she spot us in each side of the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing. As usual.

She pushed the door closed behind her and sat next to Eren, therefore it only took a minute before Eren and her would have this cupcake talk during which Eren would act like the divorced mom which current hobby is eating pink cupcakes. They laughed like little girls and he took two other cupcakes from the plate he was carefully hiding behind him; one for him, one for Sasha.

I watched as they took a bite and weirdly compared the scene to a strange, very strange porn vid. Whatever. Eating cupcakes is the most sexual thing ever. Look at those idiots licking their pink shiny lips, happier than ever. Meh.

Warned you.

The door was pushed open, and we went quiet, waiting for the stranger to enter our territory, but nothing came. It’s only when we lowered our eyes that we found a cat looking straight at us, as pleased as intrigued. He didn’t leave, though. So I straightened up, closed the door, and went back to my spot.

I got bored and decided to push the plates and glasses so I could sit on the table, and ended up receiving a (very badly thrown, and very badly received) cupcake from Eren. Yeah.

“I’m bored,” Sasha sighed as we all watched the cat wandering around, sniffing every damn thing — every thing a cat would do, actually, but we all looked amazed by his presence, like we'd never seen a cat before.

“Why?” Eren muffled.

“Connie’s not here. He promised.”

Eren shrugged and I looked at her with pure empathy, which faded away in a second when I felt the cat’s fluffy tail meeting my shoe, distracting me from the rest.

It took me a while, but I finally managed to grab him without sliding off the table (oh, lazy me), and he didn’t fight it. Sasha watched, Eren found a bag of chips, and we all went back to this incredibly comfortable silence for a while. We could have fallen asleep if the music wasn't making the walls tremble around us.

I was just petting the cat. Eren was staring at his cupcakes, probably drunker than me. As for Sasha, she was looking at Reiner’s cat (well, who knows if it's his) with the “aw” face. We all have this face, please stop pretending the contrary. We all have it. Some have it in front of cute, tiny animals; others have it in front of hentai in color; and some have it in front of crappy noodles necklaces made by a 6 year-old kid for their mother’s birthday. I mean okay, alright, but who actually think this is cute. It isn’t. It really isn’t.

The cat started licking my hand and I looked, more surprised than offended.

“That’s weird, Connie’s not the— holy _shit_ , that feels good!” They both lifted their heads and someone laughed. “Holy—“ I watched, stunned, as the hairy creature licked my palm with care and patience. Aren’t those things supposed to be super horrible? Have you ever googled a cat’s tongue? Up close?

It took me a while to go back to what I was saying, I'd lost track of my own thoughts and even forgotten I'd spoken up.

“Connie’s not the type to stay at home when a party’s happening.”

“I know,” Sasha said, then she shrugged and Eren shrugged too. I don’t know why.

“Maybe he’s got diarrhea.” Eren finally said, and I swear he has never sounded so innocent. When we looked at him with huge eyes, he rose his hands in a pacifist gesture. “This shit is horrible. It's fucking traumatizing. Like seriously you would do the same, I’m sure.”

“He’s not wrong,” Sasha admitted, before licking some sugar on the top of the cake. “Connie’s enough sober. He doesn’t want to be both drunk and having diarrhea. Everyone’s occupying the toilets to fuck anyway, so he’d be forced to shit outside.”

I cringed and Eren gave her an impressed look, as if the reflection seemed too smart for him at the moment. But considering what he had drunk before, it wasn’t surprising. At the last moment, I nodded as I watched the cat clean my dirty hand. I believe this is a way of getting rid of bacteria and I had many.

Connie’s case seemed closed and I let go of the cat a few minutes after that. Eren went on about how annoying it is to have to shower to stay clean, and I felt amazingly good.

Alcohol’s power is impressive. It can make you feel like everything’s possible, like every bad idea is a good idea, like nothing’s ever painful, permanent, unpleasant. And in a second, it can reduce you to a name, a hair color and an aftertaste of vodka in the back of your mouth, and push ’til you feel like throwing the shit out of you and eventually disappear.

It’s great. Dangerous, but still great. I get why some are alcoholics. It’s not the taste, because most of it tastes like shit. It’s the sensation it leaves in your body, in your mind, the quiet numbness, the familiar inside peace that does not last. And since it does not last, all you can do is do that again. And again. Drink, drink, drink again. And it never fucking stops because it’s like short-term amnesia, but instead of forgetting who you are, you forget why you were sad, angry or broken, and you drink even more because it seems like the right thing to do at this very specific moment.

If you’re not convinced that alcohol is a clever bitch then you didn’t listen.

Drunk emotions are pretty confusing.

“How am I supposed to apologize?” Eren asked out of the blue.

Mikasa, so.

The kitchen was dark and the only lights were coming from outside and from the bottom of the door. But I could clearly see Eren’s expression and the way Sasha listened to us.

Talking about her never annoyed me, I was almost as close to Mikasa as Eren was. And Mikasa, she really cared about him. As in, really, really did. Eren never seemed to realize it, that’s probably what’s irritating most of the time, but they’re like brother and sister, and they grew up together after all. You don’t realize how much you love your siblings until they're not living there with you anymore.

They both moved out around the same period, but not living together is still a massive change, especially when you used to share shirts, shoes, punishments and peanut butter.

“With your mouth I guess.”

It sounded funnier in my head. Eren still laughed.

“Hm.”

“What did you do?”

He hesitated, but finally, his shoulder brushed Sasha’s in a thoughtful shrug.

“We had an argument. I may or may not have said something like, _shit, I don’t need you_.” He went quiet and I waited for what would follow. “I didn’t mean that. Not like that.”

Eren’s parents adopted Mikasa when they were ten or something. She was the sister he had never asked for, but somehow accepted, although she was more like a mother, supporting, loving, caring—way too caring. I wouldn’t complain. But I knew Eren’s mother had passed away before he even discovered the existence of porn, corruption and teenage insecurities that come along puberty, and well, I wasn’t sure he wanted to try the mother thing again.

That’s why he had always been annoyed whenever Mikasa would stand for him. Be there, because first, she was stronger than him in every ways, and it was enough to step on anyone’s manhood for good. Personally, I enjoyed the idea of being quite dominated, but well. And secondly, he was trying really hard to show her how independent he could be. When, in the end, he wouldn’t survive alone. It’s not only a question of money, or job, or skills, or whatever you call this bullshit. It’s also about company and relationships, another field in which he was fucking everything up.

Eren decided he was thirsty, and I volunteered.

Reiner’s kitchen was big enough to wander around and cook at the same time, and I ended up making an _After Sex_ , cocktail I had only seen in movies, but I was drunk enough to test my skills so why not.

Vodka, icecubes, then orange juice, sugar and grenadine. Looked cool.

I took a sip before giving it to Eren, who spit it all out after doing the same. He looked at me, offended, and Sasha insisted to taste it at her turn.

“Fuck, Armin!” he shouted. “This is disgusting!” And with that, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and cringed.

The floor was filthy, full of spit and orange juice but it didn’t seem important to any of us. Eren groaned for ten solid minutes, during which Sasha laughed as hard as Marco would have, and I found a beer in Reiner’s fridge, which we ended up sharing.

About ten minutes later, we went back to the living room, where the music seemed to be even louder than before, and where the illusion of peace we had found in the kitchen looked like a distant souvenir. People were dancing, more or less, well, some were just moving around and throwing their limbs everywhere because it probably felt like the right thing to do—others had their eyes closed and looked like they were about to pass the fuck out.

Marco was still sitting on the couch, but Jean and Mikasa were back. We found our seats and finished the beer in a few sips, then we spotted Reiner and Bertholdt talking near the open bay window. People were going out and coming back in, but they wouldn’t move, not even a bit.

They looked like high schoolers flirting for the first time at their first party. Stunning.

“Do you think they’re together?” Someone asked, breaking the silence. It took me some time to realize it was Jean.

“I don’t know, look at them.” Mikasa shrugged, like it was an evidence. “Looks like they kind of want to.”

Marco looked like he was about to burst into laughter at the first move, chewing his lip so hard he was about to cry. The others were silently watching, barely visible in the partial darkness of the room, only lightened there and there by rented neon lights.

As for Reiner, he looked really ill-at-ease, and _that_ was something. Bertholdt, the guy who spent most of his life shutting the fuck up and lowering his head, seemed to handle the situation better than he did. It just wasn’t logical, especially when you count all these years spent looking at each other like they had nothing better to do.

Nobody could tell if they had something already going, nobody could even guess if they planned to do anything. They just had this hesitating face, the one you have during a few seconds before flirting with your best friend, asking yourself and the whole world if it’s the right decision.

A bad move, and it’s over. Goodbye friend. It was nice having you.

A good one, and it’s over too—if you’re lucky, it will work. For a few days, weeks, even months. Don’t be too naive thinking it will last years, though. Please save yourself the horrible disappointment of realizing it won’t. You can't fall in love with your best friend. Damages assured.

I don’t know who was the DJ or if there even was one, but he did a great job so far. Mostly rap and hip hop, safe choice for a party full of young, immature people who were still going upstairs to find a room. I bet they didn’t even make this effort. How many were fucking in the toilets _right now_?

They had three toilets, _goddamnit_.

Everyone shut up ’til something would happen. But the song changed, people screamed and everything started to get loud and blurry again. Reiner and Bertholdt exchanged a puzzled look before going outside, and Eren threw himself against the sofa in a loud disappointed sigh.

“Man, they were _so_ close.”

“Idiot, what do you think they went outside for?” snapped Jean, and they looked at each other in silence, not knowing if they wanted to fight or be friends tonight.

“They probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway,” said Marco with a shrug, and my eyes went in Eren’s direction, emptying a full glass in a few sips.

“Neither will Eren apparently,” said Sasha before I could even say anything, and the vision of Eren throwing up all the cupcakes felt too fucking real.

I cringed and looked at the bottles in front of me. At first I thought yeah, cool, but it’s enough for now, right? I didn’t have work tomorrow, but I had two hours of class in the afternoon, and I didn’t want to get shitfaced enough to pass out the entire day.

But then I thought about it, and Eren grabbed another glass, followed by a loud and disapproving Jean, what an irony. Marco was drunk enough for the whole night, he had those “empty eyes” episodes during which he looked like Jean after waking up. Lost. Silent. Fucking lost.

So I looked at Eren, Eren looked at me, Kanye's _New Slaves_ started, and I noticed a hand reaching out for me. Lowered my eyes and found a freshly opened bottle in Eren’s hand. Man, who would decline such an offer.

I could smell the drunk night from here and now. I could smell the cruel headache of hours later. I could fucking guess how badly it would end.

But I still took it.

Started from this, I can’t really say how many glasses, small bottles and wandering, anonymous cups I had drunk. Too much, for sure. Pretty much touched everything: vodka, beer, whisky, gin, martini. Just how many alcohols did Reiner have anyway?

I got up with Sasha at some point, and I think we danced. Either way, I was standing in the middle of the room, in the full, so pleasant darkness, dodging limbs, elbows and entranced hands as I could, and probably doing the same in return. Wasn’t sure I was moving though. I saw Sasha dancing as my eyelids closed every now and then, and everything was low, so fucking low. Then the second after, it was too fast, too quick, and I couldn’t keep the pace.

A guy appeared in my eyesight, somewhere in the compact crowd, but by the time I would figure out if it was Eren or not, I had already forgotten what I was doing there.

Then I remember closing my eyes and moving something, my shoulders, my waist, anything really. I was moving low, but I was moving.

I opened my eyes again, and I was outside near Reiner’s inground pool, and I watched the clear, blue-lit (and thankfully now cleaned) water as it danced like fire and flames. Can’t tell if I imagined any of that, but I stood there for a good while as I slowly got back my spirit.

People were outside, talking, dancing to the loud yet distant music coming from inside, with every window and door open, and a few dived into the pool. I hesitated, sat on the edge, and threw my legs in the water, but didn’t plunge.

I would probably drown anyway, ha. I mean have you ever swum while totally drunk? Doesn’t sound like a good idea.

Someone sat by my sides and I didn’t feel interested enough to turn my head and make such an effort just to know who the fuck it was. What was I risking anyway, wasn’t I safe here? Yeah. So I stared at the lights in the depth of Reiner’s pool and thanked the warm water for caressing my feet.

“Where are your shoes?”

Sounded like Mikasa. I looked at my feet, didn’t find any shoes.

“I don’t know.”

She laughed and I smiled, too. Not because I had lost my shoes, which wasn’t a good or a bad thing because I didn’t care that much and they were old and filthy. Whatever.

A new song was playing and I could _feel_ Mikasa’s presence at my sides. I could feel her breath, her scent, the weight of her gaze on the strangers all around.

“Eren’s inside, he made a friend.”

I felt weirdly angry at these words, but I knew I had to wait a moment before answering. Drunk-talking is the source of half of friendships problems.

I don’t know what you think about it, but it’s a pretty good way to be honest, because you just… somehow stop filtering shit. You don’t even think before talking, you just do it. You say it and you don’t think of the consequences, of what these words mean, whether they are right or wrong. You don’t really care. And if you do, then it’s just you doing what you want, and your body taking control over you.

Mikasa smelled like this moment after rain. She smelled fresh and familiar, the kind of scent you want to go home to, the kind of scent you want on your pillow.

I understand why so many guys want Mikasa. They want to be her friend, boyfriend, nightstand, whatever, it’s the same after all. All they see is an independent, mature and grown up woman, and she’s worth the try. She’s funny, smart, beautiful and she sorts out her priorities before going to bed, every goddamn day. Eren and I usually end up on the top of the list, if not the first thing.

But they don’t know Mikasa like we do. I remember her being too young to care about this kind of things, and losing both of her parents in a stupid, _so stupid_ car accident. She was sent to an orphanage for a few months, because they didn’t have any friends or family, and after some time of Eren thinking about it, Eren’s father adopted her. The decision was unanimous.

I remember Mikasa declining her first date because Eren was sick and she thought she had to be there to watch over him. I remember her playing with him while I was reading under the porch, and both of them falling to the ground in the rush. I remember her panicked face when she got up, not even caring about her own injuries and searching for Eren's gaze as she asked if he was okay.

That’s what I mean. No matter what they do, they won’t ever deserve her.

Alright, she’s annoying sometimes, we all are, and it’s in the Jaeger genes I guess. I don’t care about blood—she grew up with them, she’s a Jaeger to me, and no matter what they say, Eren and her have so many things in common they could be the same person. It’s only a matter of details.

“He’s too drunk to function, but at least, he’s enjoying it.” The sigh that followed sounded like distant regret. More like a melancholic feeling sneaking into her throat in the middle of the night, taking advantage of alcohol to settle down. “You know how he is.”

“I do.” I smiled without really noticing it. I always smile when I’m drunk anyway. I smile all the time.

Eren and I went to the same elementary school, that’s how we met. Found out we were living three blocks away from each other, and then spent the following years meeting before and after school, during week-ends and holidays. No one could tell we would end up being friends, because we didn’t have much in common at first glance.

Eren liked to fight, I liked to stay calm and safe. Eren couldn’t handle his pride and I could hurt mine to do so. Eren liked action, agressive music, and I liked quiet alternative that you listen to when you’re waking up at 4 am and trying not to hate the world. (Sure, I do punk now, but that's something called evolution.) Eren wanted a girlfriend, I never felt like I needed one, and Eren would always take opportunities. He was the one acting before thinking, and I was the brain linking the two.

“I thought you could use some company,” she finally said, calmly, and her voice had never sounded so relaxed. “There,” she added, and I noticed that she was moving.

She was offering me something, and it wasn’t a drink—it was a pink cupcake. I laughed for myself without giving any explanation and Mikasa probably thought it was the alcohol talking, but I took it and started eating anyway.

These were probably supposed to be served during those hours (now) when drunk people need to eat if they don’t want to throw up their stomach. Bread and cakes absorbing all this nasty alcohol mix. I could easily imagine the hole in the plate of cupcakes, and Reiner’s face when he saw it.

Whatever.

“Yeah, thanks,” I answered, better late than never. To be honest, I had forgotten to answer. “Don’t really know how I ended up here but, it’s pretty calm out there.”

She nodded.

Inside, a few people shouted in excitement, and a part of me wanted to know what the hell was happening, but I didn’t move. The voices echoed in my ears and Mikasa removed the arms that were keeping her knees against her chest.

The water moved as she slid her bare feet in it. She didn’t say anything, we just stayed there in (almost) pure silence, and once the cupcake was eaten, I felt like smiling again. I needed, I wanted to smile—and God knows I didn’t know why.

“Someone told me you were Hitch’s new target.”

I snorted. That’s bullshit. I may be cute but I’m no boyfriend material. Right?

I mean, come on. I hate everything, and the only things I genuinely care about are my best friends, quality porn, junk food and the opportunity of getting drunk twice a week, alone or not. If it wasn’t for work, I would do this every day.

I would probably get tired of it in the morning, but once it’s done, it’s done. You’re not thinking about it in the moment, because you either want to drink more, or to do something crazy, something stupid, something you’d probably never do if you weren’t drunk and about to piss yourself.

The trash, wild life seemed like a good idea at this moment. Still does.

Probably is the only way to stay awake and alive, because every morning, when the sun comes up, you’re dead again.

“Who told you this?”

“Eren. Not sure.” She smiled for herself and I had the proof she was as drunk as me, although she didn’t look drunk at all. She was still moving with grace and control, she was dosing distance and time, she looked happy. But don’t we all look happy when alcohol helps a little? “Yeah I think it’s Eren.”

“Well, tell Eren he’s too drunk to analyze flirt and shit -- like he knows anything about it anyways.”

“Fuck off,” she said with a smile as she took a sip from a bottle I hadn’t seen so far, probably hidden behind. “Go and tell him yourself.”

“Right now? Forget it. He’s probably doing something I don’t want to see.”

“What? You mean like having sex?” she asked, and she genuinely looked stunned, surprised, and worried at the same time.

“No I mean like doing a frozen hamburger contest or something stupid like that. Easiest way to throw up I guess.”

Mikasa laughed, she laughed clearly, loudly, and I laughed too. Mikasa’s laugh is sweet and honest.

She doesn’t laugh thousand times a day, but when she does, you know it’s real. You know you’re being fucking funny, and you can be proud. Wasn’t sure I really was funny, though, it was more like the vision of Eren gobbling up a mountain of burgers in less than two minutes that had this effect. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at the sight. Especially if Eren's drunk as shit.

Eren with a red face and chipmunk cheeks, looking around and hesitating between puking it all or escaping (proud matter).

“Feels odd growing up, right?”

I nodded in silence. Then nodded again. And looked at the night sky.

“Yeah.”

I waited a while because I didn’t know what to say, and I wasn’t sure there was something to say. I mean we were all growing up, somehow, physically—Marco was taller than everyone, Jean had a more mature face, though he was far away from being an adult—Eren wasn’t a little boy anymore, Mikasa was a woman already, and everyone had their own personal needs. Some more than others. Sex, company, doesn’t matter what it is, it’s still making a grown-up out of you, because kids never care about this shit.

But deep inside, none of us really were growing up, and I’m not sure we even tried to. We were still ignorant and irresponsible, not quite kids, more like this unfair phase when you’re not a kid anymore but not an adult yet. You’re treated like both, at random intervals, and that’s when you start wasting your time thinking about all this useless crap.

Bills. Sex life. Real friends and long-term relationships. Schools, studies, college. Money. Moving out and growing up. And so on.

“But it’s okay for now,” she said. “It’s okay.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant but I was too lazy to ask. I probably asked it quietly in my head, but it wasn’t important anyway. I was hot, too hot—my back was sweating but damn the pool’s water was making up for it. Mikasa’s shoulder brushed against mine and I finally looked at her.

She was wearing a black dress with no sleeves, and it stopped a bit past the middle of her thighs. Her long black hair was untied and was falling in cascade on her bare shoulders, and she was smiling like she didn’t need anything else than this, us being drunk and ignoring our responsibilities, the night, the smothered music and the pleasing numbness.

Mikasa looked at me and she smiled even more. Her white teeth appeared between her thin lips and her eyes were shining in the night. Sweet.

“You’re beautiful.”

She nodded in a laugh as she probably hesitated between calling me an idiot and thanking me. As far as I remember, that’s what she’s always been doing. But she was drunk, she didn’t care, so she just pushed my shoulder and I lost my balance.

“Fuck off.”

I smiled and we got silent again. I’m not sure, but I think we stayed there for a good while. When we got back inside, the music was still loud, but somehow, it was slower. It’s that time of the night where people either go home, fall asleep or find more sexual occupations to kill the time. Those who don’t do anything just sit somewhere, keep drinking and if they’re not too tired, get into deep, energetic conversations with cigarettes and complicated words. I’d never understand.

I’m not stupid. This is simply a waste of time.

Mikasa and I searched for the others but failed, because the couch they used to be sitting on was full of strangers and there was no trace of any of them. We asked some people, who either didn’t know who the hell we were talking about, or didn’t know where they were.

We wandered around the house, went to the kitchen to steal some food and fresh drinks, and stood in the living room for a good half an hour. We laughed so hard we couldn’t move, dance, or say anything. There was no air, suddenly, and everything felt brighter, more lively than ever.

Someone tried to slide on the stairs’ rail and ended up face on the floor, falling from a solid meter. Mikasa laughed ’til she cried, and the guy immediately got up, shouting he was alright, before running outside and disappearing. I lost Mikasa after this, and she had to go under the porch to calm the fuck down. We shared a cigarette as two guys fought on the grass, and I almost forgot about the others.

I don’t care what you say—there’s nothing better than being drunk. Forget the nausea, the headache, the absence of balance, the twisted notions of time, distance and decency. It feels good to lose yourself.

“Open it,” she said as we stood before a bedroom door.

“The fuck, no!”

“Come on, _sissy_. If you don’t then I’m gonna do it.”

I hesitated, mouth wide open, eyes stunned, and Mikasa pushed the door open.

I was pretty sure I would find two naked bodies grinding against each other in the dark, clothes scattered on the floor, because that’s what we had found in the previous room after all. We were raiding the whole house searching for Eren, and there were only three rooms left.

But no, no, _no_.

There was Eren, sitting on the floor, half naked, playing cards with a stranger.

“Who are you?” Mikasa asked, frowning.

Eren looked like he wanted to answer for him, but instead, turned in his direction.

“Who are you?” he repeated, echoing Mikasa's words with the same puzzled, worried tone, like he's suddenly realized he wasn't alone.

I lost my shit and Mikasa stood there, in the doorframe, trying to understand what the fuck was happening here. It was almost morning and Eren was in Reiner’s room, playing fucking _cards_.

“Thomas.”

“He’s Thomas,” Eren said to Mikasa, and went back to his cards like nothing had happened.

I punched the wall, searching for air, and Mikasa turned towards me with a dumbfounded smile. And to think we were worried about him being dead somewhere in someone’s garden.

Mikasa closed the door, patted my back and I closed my eyes.

“Come on,” she said, and she marched along the corridor towards the crowded stairs. Why do drunk people always stay in the goddamn stairs? I want to know.

I followed her without a word and we crashed on the couch. The TV was turned on, stuck on _Billy the Exterminator_ (and we actually watched for a couple of minutes because damn, Billy) but there was no sound and we wouldn’t hear a damn thing anyway. The lights were still off, but the sky outside was a little clearer, and I assumed it was around 6 or 7 am. Mikasa put her head on my shoulder and we talked about what we could do during five solid minutes.

We fell asleep before finding an answer. I think I had what you can call a spiritual blackout.


	2. the one with the pessimistic asshole and the music store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren is a nerd who spends half of his time on the toilets, and the other half on the couch.  
> Armin is the awkward friend who lazily thinks about sex during conversations and hopes nobody can read his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like they mostly sleep. Like. I think that's exactly what they're doing all day, all night.  
> Warning: the Roco lifestyle is no good influence (though I wish it was).
> 
> I realized I haven't described any of these losers yet. So it'll happen in the next round. Also more Mikasa and maybe Armin trying to be social.
> 
> The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

Do you have these goddamn nights where you can’t sleep, or close your eyes, or even try to do something productive? Yeah? I guess we all do. I do. The only thing we’re allowed to do in those moments is to lie down and wait, wait for anything, really. The sun to rise, the day to come, the phone to ring, the weariness to take control. It won’t though. Would be too easy.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The stars seemed too dark and the sky looked too distant. I couldn’t hear a thing except my damn thoughts, loud and messy, bouncing and rebouncing in my head like it’s a fucking game. Everyone was sleeping, I assumed. Jean had probably given up on staying up, and if he wasn’t dead on the couch, then he was dead somewhere else. As for Eren, he probably was trying really hard to motivate himself at the least appropriate time but, well, we all know what it leads to.

Nothing much.

I started to think about these things we usually skip. That’s not a good sign. But then, I put them aside, and thought about other stuff, the stuff I usually skip as well, but never quite acknowledged anyway. Like little details, and when put together, they can almost make sense. They count. They’re like lies; one is okay, but as soon as you start overusing it, you’re caught in one giant bubble of illusion, and it’s just about time until it explodes and leaves you in a dangerous, painful-to-be downfall.

I thought, hey, what the fuck are you doing here. There. And right now. I thought, I don’t know, that’s where I’m supposed to be, right? But then, no. No one’s waiting for me. No one’s really important either. They’re only distractions, ways to forget the background for a moment before I go back to it—that and my fucking ocean of drowned thoughts.

I thought, dude, what do you want to do, what do you want to eat, what do you plan on becoming. Possible answers: a) I don’t know; b) I don’t give a single, flying fuck; c) I don’t fucking know. End of the story. That's really all there is.

My laptop battery was about to die, it was only a question of minutes. But I was too lazy, too careless to reach out for the charger and avoid the crack in the music where everything would go silent and dark. I just stayed there, enjoyed the music while it was still there, thinking about crappy dilemmas involving eggs and toilets.

Tough, adult decisions.

Eren had started his thing at Nanaba’s garage. Still not sure if it was legal, but 100% sure I didn’t give a shit about that. Neither did Eren. He had a job, he had a little money for what it’s worth, and he could spend all this time around cars, in other words, the only thing that would get him out of this goddamn house on a daily basis. If you can call it that. And to think he doesn't even have a damn car himself.

A few days had passed since Reiner’s party, and it still was the same ridiculous situation, with the same ridiculous characters, in the same ridiculous background.

The weather sucks, but I like that. Sun is irritating, in many ways. Sweating is like watching your own life running down on your skin, trying to escape. It’s like losing all these percents of water you’ve got in there, and trying not to burn as you’re slowly dying. I’m exaggerating but, you feel me.

Anyway, that was it. Still didn’t like my job and now that both Eren and I had something to do, we were officially losers—but losers with a job. It should have been nice, like some kind of grand evolution, but it wasn't. I just felt stuck.

I felt ridiculous. Horribly ridiculous.

Congrats, Armin, you’ve passed the test. Welcome to loser Academy, we reserved a seat just for you. Come on, go and sit with us. We’re so happy to have you today.

Kill me, please. Please.

Isn’t that stupid, by the way. Didn’t your parents teach you that you can have anything you want as long as you stay polite and say hello, please, thank you? Yeah well in this case you can go fuck yourself, thank you, have a good day and see you soon.

Mom called. Actually, she called more than once but what can I say? I’m a failure, that’s the exact reason why I don’t want to hang up the phone: it would give her more reasons to be disappointed, and from seering how hard she was trying, it was just wasting time and energy pretending things like Arlert Junior is doing fine.

I was not.

I think I’ve lost weight. Has nothing to do with that but it’s still a part of it all. I’ve lost weight. Don’t know why, though; we’re poor as hell but we still have enough to feel freaking heavy, lazy and useless at the end of the day. Yet here I was, starting to look like the guy in the Machinist, scary as fuck and also something I didn’t want to be.

Pretty sure it’s because I don’t do sports. Why? Because it’s boring. Because it’s boring and because I don’t like strangers, they’re gross and rude and mainly useless. I don’t see why I would team up with some fuckers and just smile because, hey, I’ve lost goddamn calories. No, no.

I probably suck at sports anyway.

But when you’re lying on your bed at almost 3 am, trying to forget that you’re existing, or maybe trying to remember to exist, what do you have better to do than getting up and being fucking healthy?

Only acceptable answer: nothing.

Which is why I got up.

Which is why I changed my stinky, filthy Tee for another one, less stinky and less filthy.

Which is why I actually got out of my room and looked at the holes in my socks.

Eren decided it was time to prove the world he was still alive because he opened his door at this very moment, facing me as I was categorically refusing to face him. Didn’t care enough for that shit, not now.

“Hey.” I didn’t answer, started to walk towards the stairs, so he went on. “Where are you going?”

At first I thought: that’s none of your business. That’s useless overall. But when your lazy friend starts to move his lazy ass, then you probably want answers. I gave him some.

“Running—or walking. Whatever.” I stopped and moved my toes, watching in stunned silence as my pale skin appeared underneath the holes. “Outside.”

I don’t know what he did after that, because I didn’t hear a single thing. Neither his door closing, nor his voice chasing after me. It’s like he had never existed.

I went outside with Eren’s sport shoes and the first thing that came to my mind was, where. Where do you wanna go. You’ve got time, you’ve got a fuckton of time, you’ve got eternity and you could go anywhere. Where?

I don’t know.

I went to the grocery store, eventually. Near the docks. That one, open all day, all night, it was cheap and not too far (about ten minutes by feet) so yeah, why not. I bought a bottle of water but came back three minutes later to buy an apple and a pack of cigarettes. Outside, I waited for a guy to pass by to ask for a lighter and then I decided it was time to lose myself in the small, crappy city in which I was already lost.

I sat on a bench in front of the shop, right before the road, both deprived of light and life, and slowly smoked my first cigarette while scrolling through my contacts. I stopped on Mom’s and watched her picture. Watched carefully, watched like it was the last time I could do so.

She was smiling on the picture. I could clearly remember the day and exact moment when I had taken this picture—it was in the kitchen, Mom’s kitchen; and I was sixteen. I was fucking sixteen and haven’t changed since then. Still ignorant, still full of shame and doubts, still lucky enough to fuck up and yet still survive.

Poor parents. I don’t want kids. Why would I?

Who would anyway.

First of all, they’re loud. When they come out of the vagina, they’re already shouting like crazies. Then they start doing it at night so that you can lack sleep and common sense on a long term. They do it all day long to make you mad and they do it again when the sun comes down. When they grow up, they keep shouting at you no matter where or when, they’re screaming, complaining, whining, talking loud and fast, pushing the volume of the stereo to a maximum just to piss you off.

And when you’re sixteen, they’ll try to hurt you bad, really they’ll try anything to make a hell out of your life because they need to feel something and you’re the closest thing to anger. They’ll hate you for a while. But they’ll keep screaming in their own way. They’ll never really stop.

Then you’ll watch as they’re doing the same mistakes as you and not even caring about what you’ve got to say, the usual warning “don’t do this, I know what it feels like” and sometimes even “I’ve been through this when I was your age”. Breaking news guys: they will do it anyway.

Pointless.

What’s the use of being disappointed and disappoint them back? Children are pointless, they really are. They waste your time, energy, faith and money, and when they’re done with you, your buddies are dead and buried, your lover is long gone and you’re closer to a vegetable than a real human being. You're lost your entire fucking life and switched nice opportunities for that kid who's not even grateful for the sacrifices you've made. What a goddamn bargain!

I guess I could thank my parents for doing it anyway. Wouldn’t be there otherwise, right?

Still, don’t marry. Don’t have kids. You’ve got so many things to do.

People are never there, except for disappointing you. They’ll always have time for that.

Hey, you. What’s your name? What a shitty name you’ve got there. It’s alright. You’re not the only one. Hey! What are you doing here exactly?

I don’t know either. I don’t know.

I hesitated: should I call her or not? But, no.

 _Because_ I didn’t know where she was and what time it was there. Because, the only people answering the phone at such an hour are sleep deprived teenagers, drug dealers and idiots like me.

 _Because_ I had nothing, absolutely nothing to tell her. Not anything aside from cold pizzas, lonely masturbation sessions in the toilets in the middle of the afternoon or at the edge of the sunset, while lazily checking my mails on the phone. What a life. No, Mother, don’t read this. Don’t be fucking disappointed. I was bound to be a loser.

 _Because_ no, thanks.

I stayed there for a while. Wondered what Eren was doing back there. He wasn’t working tomorrow but hey, it didn’t mean he would wisely use his free time to be productive or even sleep a little. I know Eren, I know him very well, though I’m not sure it’s always a good thing.

That’s why I came to the conclusion that he was waiting for me. Idiots prefer to form a pack. They don’t like being alone because they have no one to be idiot with.

Therefore, I came back.

He was on the couch, close to falling asleep but resisting the temptation. I could see how hard he was trying to keep his eyes open and his mind awake.

TV turned on. Everything dark. Not a sound.

“How was it? The running thing?” he whispered from the couch as I removed my shoes.

I sat on the other side of the couch, where his feet barely left me enough space to sit and die. He didn’t turn his head towards me, and I doubt he could even move a limb.

“I didn’t run.”

“What?”

“Run.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like that.”

He didn’t say anything. What could he even say to that anyway.

“It sucks.”

For a moment, I thought he was talking about me being a total loser, and pretending that I’ll do things when really, I won’t. But then I looked at him, sprawled on the couch with an arm falling into the void, lost somewhere between the couch and the table, and the other numb on his chest, remote stuck in his palm. And I looked at the TV, almost mute, but still loud enough to be heard.

“Everything sucks,” I said, because Eren didn’t like anything on the TV. It didn’t help the fact that he was still watching it everyday. I guess it’s another form of laziness.

“Yeah,” Eren replied, but even if he wasn’t awake enough to notice the sarcastic tone, I let it pass. He was tired, I was tired, and the more I was thinking about it, the more I was starting to admit the possibility of Eren being right about this one.

We stayed like that for a long time. It was still dark outside, and probably around 4 or 5 am, but hey, whatever. Eren hit me with his feet multiple times, but I didn’t say anything. Too tired to care is a freaking life motto.

An old movie in black and white was on the TV. Couldn’t quite tell when exactly it had started, and when did the previous thing end, but it was there, and I was too sleepy to change channels. And Eren? You’d be an idiot to even suggest it.

We fell asleep like that, pathetic and not even noticing. His feet were digging in my sides and my neck was half broken, but once again, we were too tired to care.

You know, the question isn’t how will you find a job, a nice girl and everything—it’s in which goddamn position you will find pease in your bed tonight, it’s what you will wear tomorrow, it’s what and where will you eat and how many times will you shit, and how will you make this person understand that you don’t like them. That’s it. That’s how we are wasting our whole nights and precious time. Pretending to care about the future when really all that’s stuck on your mind is this useless crap. There are the worst ones and no one will ever admit.

There are the ones that will keep you awake.

When I opened my eyes again, Eren wasn’t there anymore. I assumed he was in the kitchen, eating like always, or in the shower finally having the common sense to clean himself (although I was one to talk) or maybe even outside taking the trash out because, you know, miracles happen.

Miracles don’t happen.

Eren wasn’t in the kitchen, he wasn’t in the shower, and he certainly wasn’t outside, in the alley, confirming the theory of “nothing’s impossible” either. When I opened the door of my room, he was there. Not waiting for me. Not borrowing my laptop to shamelessly get himself off to my porn because my screen was bigger and no one says no to HD porn. Not pitying me and deciding to tidy my room because it was chaos all around—he had enough to work on his own room anyway. He was on my bed, face buried in the pillows, sleeping like a little kid.

Fucking tell me why? I have no idea.

I sighed, sat at the edge of the bed and listened to the calming sound of Eren sleeping. It wasn’t that bad. And at least, when I was concentrating, I could have the confirmation that he was still breathing, which was hard to tell when his whole face was lost in the warm, fluffy pillow he was probably drooling on.

I looked at him and asked myself since when was Eren like that. Or rather, since when was I like him. Not quite like him, but you know, both losers in life. As far as I can remember, there was a time where we were like any other human beings. Normal, banal, invisible enough to fit and fade in the background. We had problems, but they didn’t seem to bother anyone, or at least, they weren’t bothering us.

When did things change this much? Can you close your eyes for a minute and miss so many things?

Maybe I had been a loser from the start and didn’t know it. But Eren? Eren didn’t deserve this goddamn shit, even though he was an asshole more often than wasn’t. He had a nice family, caring and honest, way more than mine. A loving mother, an understanding father, and Mikasa gave two many fucks I guess. Not that she was stupid, on the contrary, Eren is the stupid one in the story.

But you know family stuff. It’s hard not to care and when you do, it’s hard to admit that you do. Same shit every time.

In the end it isn’t worth much time, because the things you keep to yourself are usually the ones that matter the most.

Anyways.

I looked at him for a while. For once, he couldn’t fight back, for once, there was only silence to welcome my gaze, and not crazy, lively clear eyes, so bright they could make you blind if you looked hard enough. I looked at him, sprawled on my bed, and his arms tangled somewhere around the pillows, and just when I thought of the possibility of sleeping there with him, I decided to take the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d sleep together on the same mattress and under the same sheets, but it wouldn’t be the first time for me to sleep on the couch either.

Fifty fifty.

I went downstairs and tried to make something out of my thoughts. You’re most likely to do that when everyone’s sleeping, because there is more space for you to think and list your goddamn mistakes.

Before I could even notice it, though, I had passed out.

I woke up to the sound of dishes being clumsily put in the sink, so clumsily it echoed loudly in the whole house. Opened an eye, then another one, and noticed the sun was up. I got up, stretched and yawned as much as needed, and Jean was sitting in the kitchen.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“I am,” I shrugged, because no one would survive Jean’s discretion, right. “Where’s Eren?”

“Huh in the shower, I think.” He looked at me before taking a sip from his glass of water. “He locked himself in the bathroom when I came out of my room ten minutes ago, so.”

“What time is it?” I frowned.

Jean shook his head.

“It’s 6 pm, Armin. It’ll be dark in an hour or so.” Lifted his eyes towards me again. Lazily. “Maximum.”

Okay, cool. Alright.

“Did you go outside today?”

I glanced at his clothes. He seemed more appropriate than Eren and me, and his hair looked clean enough. He probably showered, too.

“I did. And, are you going to work tonight?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well that’s great.”

“Not really. They pay me for this. But they hired a new guy so I don’t have to work as much as I had to from now on. Which means they’ll pay me less. I’d rather waste my time there than at school, sitting in this fucking chair all day long like a goddamn house cat. Less hours means lower pay, Jean.”

Valid, right.

Working less was alright. But I needed money.

“Anyway, what are we having for dinner?”

Jean sighed loudly.

“I don’t know.”

Someone has to cook for the sake of everyone. The lazy days are over, you have to participate and get your lazy ass off your seat. You can’t just sleep all day and wait ’til your mother comes home from work and cooks you something warm and good. This is growing up, boys, this is growing up and it really does suck.

“Hm—“ I started, but I knew it would either end with either pasta or pasta with cheese. Long list of options we got there, right.

“Why not pizza?” someone suggested, and we both turned our heads towards the doorframe, just where Eren was standing, wet hair and half naked. As always. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t want pizza. Everyone wants pizza.”

He snorted and walked to the fridge to take a soda can before sitting next to Jean. Jean was raiding 9gag on his phone and I watched silently.

“Okay,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want to cook. And Eren’s right. Who doesn’t want pizza.

You’d want pizza after breaking up with your girlfriend. You’d want pizza after losing your left leg. You’d want pizza during apocalypse, and God knows you’d still want pizza once you’re up there with the guy. Just hope they have good mozarella.

I waited for Jean’s answer, but it’s almost like he had forgotten we were there.

“What?” He frowned. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Pizza. Right. I mean, why not.”

Translated, it goes like, yeah, I’m too lazy to be your fucking cook tonight so let’s do that. Sometimes I wish Marco was there, he knew how to cook and he liked to do it. Marco’s a cool dude, he’s smart, he’s kind. He’d never end up like the three of us, and even more—Sasha and Connie living next to us weren’t better. Marco has options, he has opportunities and the money required to take it. Not much, but enough.

He’s far away from rich, but he’s nowhere near our pathetic, poor lifestyle either. Stinking sheets, dried plates piled up in the sink, only one fork and maybe two or three spoons in the drawer, and everytime we’re out of toilet paper we have to knock on Connie and Sasha’s door (and accessorily wait two weeks for someone to finally make the effort).

Marco has loving parents, he’s living with them and he can use their money on a daily basis. He works, he goes to college, he’s the child every parent wants to have, and also the child we’d never become. But you somehow get used to the idea.

We had pizza a few hours later, around 9 or 10 pm because we crashed on the couch before calling, and spent too much time agreeing on the pizzas we’d buy. It was already dark outside, and the pizza guy almost didn’t find our house, but the bell rang and while I was battling Armin in a video game which name I didn’t even know, Eren ran down the stairs and paid the guy. Three boxes, that’s what heaven sounds like.

We stayed in Eren’s room for a while, playing video games and eating our pizzas in the least quiet silence. Jean nearly pissed himself and Eren choked on his own food, as for me, I received a random remote in the head.

None of us could sleep after an enormous dose of TV and infinite junk food, and out of the blue, Eren received a call from Mikasa. He came back in the room with a pleading smile, four minutes later, and finally told us that he wanted to meet Mikasa at the skate park near Mikasa’s work place, at Kelly’s, and that he wanted to come with him.

We didn’t really know if he was seeking company in the cold weather or if Mikasa had required our presence, but we agreed anyway—not that we had much going on other than that.

Cold, it was really cold. We walked for about fifteen minutes straight, stopping there and there for Jean because he didn’t know how to lace his shoes. Please. We hesitated to buy beer on the way because the grocery was at the corner and we were pretty thirsty. But Mikasa called again and said she had everything we needed.

When we arrived at the old skate park, everyone was frozen and I couldn’t feel my fingers. Mikasa was sitting on the top of the ramp with a pastic bag and a big can of ice tea. She spotted us when we went past the graffiti wall, which was large and high enough for us to feel like the tiniest things, and she barely waved her hand at us.

We climbed to the top and while Jean and Eren sat next to Mikasa, I sat next to Eren. No one talked at first, and Mikasa silently took the things out of the plastic bag as everyone watched with curious eyes.

Mikasa had cigarettes, soda and a jar of pickles. I don’t know why but she did, still. She talked about the weirdos at her work, then complained about not liking her job, and I silently nodded. Eren followed by announcing he had found a job, and I glanced at Mikasa to see her reaction. They weren’t quite talking, but she looked happy.

Jean and her discussed about available jobs in town, and she joked about hiring him at Kelly’s because they “needed someone”. Jean had never looked so content—too bad Mikasa burst into laughter and Jean’s face fell into pieces. Poor dude. I mean, look at him, he wants her so bad it almost burns to watch.

But Mikasa doesn’t love him. She doesn’t love anyone. She only loves people with the heart, like family, like friends, like the people she doesn’t want to lose. According to her, it’s the only option she has, and after what she’d been through, I can’t blame her.

So friends, we were. Good goddamn friends, friends that meet at midnight at an abandoned skate park to drink beer and share a jar of pickles. I don’t want any other friends.

Somehow, though, Jean had always been jealous of Eren. Eren was younger than him, yet he had Mikasa, and no matter how close Jean could be with her, it wouldn’t be the same. Eren and her used to sleep in the same bed, they used to share milkshakes and bowls of pop corn, they used to help each other with intimate things, like Eren with Mikasa’s bra.

To be honest, their relationship was the weirdest shit ever, and somehow even I was jealous.

But then Mikasa opened a little blue box and everything went silent.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Shh,” she snarled as Eren’s hand approached the box, and she smacked it away. “It’s mine.”

“But you’re gonna share, right?” Jean pleaded.

I only watched with a slight smile because these two were desperate case, and I knew for sure Mikasa would give me something.

In the little blue box, five rolled blunts, perfect and clean. Beautiful.

“How did you got that?” Jean asked.

“None of your business, Jean.”

“Bet you sucked someone for that, huh,” he joked, and Eren rolled his eyes.

“Armin?” she asked and they both got silent again, stunned.

“What?” Eren shrieked, and I took the blunt she was offering me.

Mikasa closed the little box and threw me a lighter, and holy shit was it amazing to feel their despair freezing their blood.

Ten minutes later, I was lying down at the bottom of the ramp, Eren by my sides. He was quiet, more than usual, and it had nothing to do with the blunt he didn’t have, or Mikasa’s reserved presence. It was… something else.

“Want it?” I asked, offering him the thing.

He looked at it, hesitated like it was a trap, and finally his hand reached out for it as Jean and Mikasa’s loud voices echoed behind us. They were still sitting at the top, apparently in a lively conversation about money and capitalism, and a thousand sighs wouldn’t be enough.

Eren and I looked at the stars in pure silence. It was cold, but smoking almost made up with the weather; and I ended up enjoying fresh hair more than I thought I would. I closed my eyes and Eren shifted closer. Our shoulders brushed each other’s, but neither of us moved. We liked it like that.

He gave the blunt back and I looked at the edge. I liked how cigarettes would lighten at the end, just where it burns, slowly, like a tiny point of light in the darkness. The contrast’s inspiring and heat is mesmerizing anyway.

“So, how’s work going?”

“Good,” he said. “Good. It’s going good.”

He nodded against the ramp and I trapped the joint between my lips as he let out a loud, deep sigh.

“I talked to Dad today.” I felt like answering but decided to let him take his time. He needed it. “She said… he said he’d like me to get a girl, a good, kind girl, someone nice. He wants me to do this and I’m—I’m not sure.”

“Your dad’s great. He probably thinks it would help.”

“Help for what? Money? Time? A girlfriend wouldn’t help in anyway, except maybe for sex, which would be great by the way, but well.” He smiled at his own words and I couldn’t help but do the same. Damn, sex sounded great. “I mean, yeah, I want a girlfriend, but I’m not sure I would handle it well… like… you feel me.”

Silence.

“I do.” The sky looked terrifying. “I do feel you, Eren.”

Mikasa screamed behind us and Eren jumped against my shoulder. I laughed and instead of hitting me, he stole the blunt from between my fingers and kept it.

And everything felt great.

Silent, quiet, but great.

And suddenly, I felt like telling Eren I loved him. Because I did, I loved all of them, Mikasa, Jean, him, even if I didn’t really seem like it, not always, at least. It’s human right. But I really like Eren, because Eren’s the kind of friend to lace your shoes and buy you food when you’re sick and download an old movie you liked a few years ago but couldn’t recall the name. He’s the friend that would take your dead body with him on the battlefield, just to have something to bury. That’s dignity.

And it’s cool. Eren’s cool.

He’s a loser, but so am I, so, I forgive him. Most of the time.

“You should hang out with someone. Your dad’s right, it might help. Maybe this is what you need, maybe you’re just… not made for the life of a single boy. Ha. Think of that.”

He didn’t say anything but I could smell he was thinking about it. Sincerely.

I could almost see the list of options and names he was scrolling in his mind.

“Alright,” he finally said, like he’d admit he was wrong. “I’ll do it. But—only if you’ll do it too.”

“What the hell,” I groaned, and shook my head as my hair scratched the ramp. “No.”

“Come on, it’s only fair.”

Eren was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. I’d rather die.

“Hitch is cute. She’s nice, I guess. Try it out.”

Starting from there, I didn’t add a single thing. Because I wasn’t concentrated enough, because I was tripping in my own thoughts, and because there was nothing to add. I didn’t really want to accept the pledge because somehow, deep down, I wanted to try.

Never had time and energy, not enough to go out with someone. Not enough to get a real mature thing, whether it lasts two days or two months—there are more things included in the package, like sex, the fact of living (almost) alone, a car you can drive and no parents to ground you. I mean yeah, that’s great, both of you can sleep together in the same bed without your parents freaking out and sending her home before 9 pm. Hell, this isn’t a life.

But I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t really at ease with that kind of stuff, even if I looked like it.

“Asshole,” he whispered, and we both laughed.

I hit his shoulder with mine and closed my eyes, a stupid smile stuck on my lips. I felt good, I felt really good—I felt good here and now, with them, and at this very moment, nothing else mattered. Not this shitty little town, not my shitty little job, not our shitty little lives. Nothing.

Just us.

I turned my head towards Eren and looked at me as he put the blunt against his lips, eyes staring at the sky. Eren was alright, more than alright to be honest. Eren had what many would call the perfect charm. Big clear eyes, dark brown hair, not really long, not really short. Soft face, brutal gaze. Taller than the average, and not as skinny as I was. He had what he needed to be popular with the girls, popular in general. And the longer I stared, the more I felt jealous. Eren had many things I didn’t have—and I’ve never known what it is.

We all stayed there for a long time. Too long to really say, although I am sure I didn’t have a notion of time in such a state anyway. It didn’t matter.

When we walked Mikasa back to her appartment, it was almost the morning. And when we arrived home, the stars were gone. Everything was gone, we were gone and somehow our ghosts stayed at the skate park.

Silence—that’s what the house welcomed for the next ten hours. I slept on my bed, too tired to even get under the covers, and Eren probably did the same. Pretty sure Jean fell asleep in front of the TV, but couldn’t really understand how he had the energy to do so.

I woke up at 3 pm, and the pizza boxes were still in the kitchen. Empty beer cans and filthy, empty glasses were everywhere in the room, on the counter, on the table, next to the fridge, even in it, and Lord knows we didn’t care about any of this.

Really.

Looked at the clock and made the calcul in my head. I had to be at the shop at 5 to do a 2-3 hours shift, and going there took fourty minutes with all the walking shit and the buses. Time the time I was wasting standing there and doing nothing also was the same amount of minutes I was wasting not doing something else. Showering. Finding real, acceptable clothing. Making an effort to look good.

But then, I remembered. Time you enjoyed wasting isn’t wasted. Right?

So I stayed there, and maybe one or two minutes later, I filled a cup with cold water and sat on the couch. The TV was turned off and Jean was nowhere to be found, but it was all good, because I didn’t want to talk.

I sighed at how unsociable I could be, but then decided to blame people, because really, people. Really. Think about it. People make you want to throw up, and then when you’ve calmed the fuck down, they give you a bit of love and happiness only to take it back little time after. It’s useless. It’s cruel. It doesn’t make sense.

That’s mostly why I hate people. Each time I’m with someone, I feel like I don’t know myself anymore. I don’t have my habits, my personality, my personal space anymore—because the presence of otherness is so overwhelming that I have to get out of my comfort zone. To adapt. To shut up when I want to tell you how much I want you to trip in the stairs and break your neck. Everything is gone.

I guess we all do; but it doesn’t help much.

Felt like showering but changed my mind at the last minute. Tell me how can I always be late when I literally do nothing? Just stairs, another sip of cold water, then a special physical effort to find a t-shirt that I haven’t worn yet, and the time to do so. Then another sip, stairs again, sip, sip, I walk around because I don’t know what to do, shoes, a sip, back to the kitchen, and I fall into a black hole of mad dilemmas.

The streets weren’t that much full of people and I appreciated the lack of human beings surrounding me. Be grateful when it happens, because it does not fucking happen a lot.

I walked like a dumb teenager entering the school on the chorus of _Tubthumping_ , because, well. Having a bad day? Listen to Chumbawamba. Got dumped by your girlfriend because she thought you were too day? Listen to Chumbawamba. Your toast fell on the wrong side and you tripped in the shower? No fucking problemn, get Chumbawamba on!

But, seriously. If you ever feel bad about your crappy music tastes, remember Eren used to sing this shit while showering for months. Good thing he didn’t shower much.

When I arrived at the store, there was no customer. Nothing with a beating heart around here, nothing but Erd, sprawled on the counter behind his laptop. Pretty much the same sight as usual, to be honest.

The doors opened and I made my way to the counter. Erd probably saw me coming but he didn’t move in the least, he didn’t turn his head, hell, he didn’t even blink.

“Yo,” I said, because I had nothing else to say.

Erd wasn’t the new guy. He basically was the manager of the shop, but not quite. Let’s the say he’s been there longer than the rest of us, he’s like the pervert uncle of the family, always sitting behind his counter with an open blouse and his head resting on his closed fist.

He let out a little cute groan, and I threw my backpack on the already full counter before getting on the other side of it.

His right hand was scrolling on the mouse pad, but it was the only thing proving me he was still alive.

“Where’s the new guy?”

That’s when Erd straightened up, so quick I almost jumped at his sides. He grabbed the almost empty coffee mug left on a pile of CDs that I’d probably have to sort out, and I silently bet it had been there for at least three hours. Whatever.

“He’s out.” He stopped, frowned and finally shrugged. “I mean he went out—he went home already.”

“Alright, ‘right.”

Nice.

Because I didn’t really want to be near him for the few hours I had to spend here. I didn’t really like him, and I didn’t really dislike him either, he looked like any other, but my personal price had a price he couldn’t afford.

Plus, working here is better for lonely guys. Little clientele, little shop, just a bunch of old video games, vinyles and forgotten music waiting to be heard again—not much, really. No need to talk while filling the dusty shelves of a shop that can’t afford working neon lights. _Please_.

“Do you have something else?” Erd gave me a weird look and I opened my bag to take out my own laptop. “The music. Sounds like some serious early 90’s depressing shit.”

He seemed to search the surrounding with his eyes only, and opted for a broken CD of _Spin Doctors_.

“Still 90’s shit.” Put my computer on the counter next to his and glanced at the clock to make sure I wasn’t late. “I’ll find something.”

I took my phone and wandered in the alleys, quietly asking myself what I would do once back at home. Jean smoking a cigarette, most likely, while Eren would shout and play video games at the same time.

I was about to put down _Blur_ ’s album when my phone vibrated in my hand. Took me about five seconds to understand it wasn’t Eren calling.

“What.”

“Hey—“ answered a voice I knew too well, and I let out an amused sigh as Connie shouted on the end of the line. “Man, Sasha’s the best. She was going back home after work and she bought me fucking socks!”

At one moment, I thought he was kidding me, and then, I thought he probably was sarcastic.

“Socks? She bought you socks?”

“Come oooon, when was the last time someone bought you socks?” Connie asked, and silence followed.

“Fair enough,” I admitted, and I heard his low, familiar laugh echoing through the phone. “So what are you calling for? Not that I don’t want to talk to you, but I’m on my shift.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groaned, and I felt bad for a second—two maximum.

I wasn’t busy in the least, and I had said that while looking at a secondhand 1999 _Driver_ jacket. _PlayStation_ edition. Would be lying if I said I never played it—and lying even more if I said I didn’t like it.

Poor kid memories.

“Wanted to know if Sasha and I could crash at your place tonight.”

“What a surprise,” I sighed, loug enough to be heard, but I knew Connie well enough to be sure he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “I don’t know, I’m not home, ask Eren.”

“Eren doesn’t answer the phone. Must be stuck in the toilets with the commission #2.”

“Or jacking it,” I added, and Connie giggled. “What about Jean?”

He took a breath, prepared himself to answer, but I cut him off in extremis.

“No, changed my mind, don’t want to know what Jean is doing. You can crash at our place whenever you want, loser. But remember that the hours spent in the house will be payed back by hours in your swimming pool next summer.”

“Deal.”

Sasha’s mad laugh violently met my ears and Connie made the weirdest noise.

“Shit, you scared me!” he shouted at her, but although Sasha’s laugh is a massive sound that can be heard miles away, I doubt she heard that. “Sash—“ Silence. He shifted and I put the jacket back. “Shit man I don’t know what’s happening she’s totally losing it—I—shit, I’ll call you later.”

He hung up just like that and the strange peace that followed felt gueninely odd. Shook my head and checked my phone before I’d lock it. I had one text. From Eren.

_From: Eren_  
_Got 2 level 261 in candy crush._

Tried not to smile, but really couldn’t. I slid my phone in my back pocket and kept searching for acceptable music as I imagined Eren sitting naked on the cold toilets, playing candy crush for 45 minutes straight with his shit a few centimeters away from his bare ass.

Erd told me to go home before him, swearing he’d turn the lights off and close the doors. I thought of staying there with him, because he basically wasn’t supposed to be there, but Erd had recently lost his girlfriend—dumped, like the rest of us, and instead of leaving him alone with _Chumbawamba_ , decided it was a nice thought to keep him company. Erd spending his time at the shop to avoid loneliness wasn’t a wise decision, though, but I could understand.

But, that was before my hands went dry and suddenly I craved the warm covers on my bed. It was already cold and windy outside, and thank God I had a scarf and Eren’s tricolor beanie, but I wasn’t much against the force of Mother Nature.

I’m a weak ass. I left.

The bus was empty, left alone a few old ladies and a weird guy who, for some reason, spent the entire trip looking at me from five seats ahead. The music in my earphones was too loud, and my hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt felt too warm, and that was enough not to care.

It started raining at the very same moment where I pushed the front door open, and rushed inside. I found Eren standing in the living room, in green sneakers and a black basketball short, and he pretty much looked like he was about to go out.

“What’s this?” I asked before anything else, and started to remove my shoes.

Eren turned in my direction like he didn’t know I was there, and a few seconds later, looked at his own outfit.

“What do you mean? It’s—well I went outside.”

I lifted an eyebrow and he threw something at me. Caught it in extremis. It was pizza cheese.

“Pizza cheese?”

“Pizza cheese,” he nodded, and I heard something coming from the kitchen, probably Jean adding another plate to the already dangerous pile of plates in the sink.

“Why?”

“You’ve complained for days that you wanted pizza cheese but couldn’t find the one you wanted. What do you want it for anyway?”

“Eating,” I just said, and threw my bag on the way as I walked to the kitchen. Opened the cheese bag, shook my head and thanked everyone alive for this sweet yellowish treasure. “Don’t tell me you went out just for me because I wouldn’t believe you,” I went on and took a seat in front of Jean.

Jean didn’t react. As for Eren, he approached and I heard him playing with a plastic bag in hands.

Please give this boy a reward. Now— _right now_.

I glanced through the window and looked around. The walls of the kitchen were painted with a dark red, but outside, everything was grey. The sky was grey, the landscape was grey, there was no sun, no cloud, no blue sky—just grey everywhere. I felt like Christmas holidays were approaching in the weirdest kind of way, but somehow appreciated.

This kind of weather I liked—a lazy type. You stay at home, you watch discovery channels and you fall asleep on the couch at 4 pm with cute cupcakes on your knees. More or less.

No work. No people. Just the TV and so much time to waste. How could you say no?

“Is Connie there? Sasha?”

“Nope,” Eren said.

“Connie said they’d be here around 7 pm.”

Turned to the clock to check, but Eren replied quicker.

“It _is_ 7 pm, you ass.”

“Then he’s going to arrive.” I thought Eren would say something to that, but Jean went on immediately, and I looked up. “Talked to Mikasa earlier.”

“You?” Eren snarled. “ _Please_.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he said back, because he knew exactly where it was going. Each time they would fight like this, and each time Jean would end up accusing Eren of being deeply in love with the Asian beauty living a few blocks away. More precisely, Eren’s sister. I got used to it.

“Sooo,” Jean continued, “she was with Marco.”

“Why?” I asked. 

Jean shrugged and the front door opened before he could say anything else. Obviously thought it was Connie, or Sasha, or both, and got the confirmation when two loud, opposite voices burst all at once.

Connie came in with a roar and did not greet anyone.

“Hey, _Armout_!”

Had a two-second breakout before going back to reality, and vaguely swung on my seat to see Connie’s majestically joyful face.

“Remember the dude in your history class? High school. Freshmen year. You talked to his twin by accident in the restroom, and literally told the guy how bad you needed to jack off after school. Sasha found him on _Facebook_ and lost her shit.”

Please leave cute flowers on my grave. Thank you.

I closed my eyes, prayed for my distant, yet unpleasant shame to disappear, but it didn’t last. Might have been a few years, but I can recall every horrified detail of the twin’s face.

“Can’t blame me, though, I was so horny I was reading ‘orgasm’ instead of _holograms_.”

Everyone was already laughing and Eren threw a hilarious hand on my back. Good thing I wasn’t drinking anything, I would have spit it all—but I choked on my saliva anyway.

I caught Sasha opening the fridge but didn’t quite connected to what was happening. I was half lost in my memories, half shaken by Eren’s strengh, and also pretty much hungry, which was enough to keep me distracted.

Jean and Connie kept laughing for five good minutes before changing the subject, subject being me again, me in high school, me with glasses, me handling my puberty, me trying to be cool when I knew it just wasn’t for me.

Then Eren settled on the couch and I followed, wanting to get away from all this shouting, laughing and insert shit here. I removed Eren’s beanie off my head and he started zapping ’til he found what he wanted. We went for _Top Gear_ and I smiled at the first thing I noticed, inter alia, one of the three dudes driving in zigzag before stopping with horror in front of a police car.

“Work?” Eren’s voice appeard next to me right ear, but we didn’t look at each other.

“Dull. You?”

“Dull.”

It was enough of a talk for us. We didn’t need much although we generally did more. But today was a day like any other, a lazy one, a fucking boring one. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t quite dislike it, because I had the insidious impression this lifestyle was made for us.

And it was better this way than any other, because I was a dead, stupid, irresponsible boy, but at least I had something. I wasn’t alone, I had somewhere to go back to at the end of the day, even though this house was filthy, a goddamn mess, and half of the time, we didn’t have warm water.

Again, good thing we weren’t that clean kind of guys. Two showers a week is more than enough. Let’s save water, let’s stink together.

For a second I wondered what my parents were doing, where they were, if they were thinking about me too. But I didn’t like that, any of these thoughts, therefore I chose to forget about it once again. It was the same thing every time, but I had good reasons. Too many reasons. Didn’t want my parents to worry, and I was missing them like hell. That, also, was the exact reason why I didn’t want to call them. And sometimes, if I was lucky, I would receive a postcard from them, traveling on the other side of the Earth.

I’m just a poor dude waking up to the sound of _Semi-Charmed Life_ and _All Star_ , and falling asleep to _Closing Time_. I drink. I smoke, less than Jean, but still. My laptop history is full of useless shit and low quality porn sites and networks with people I don’t like—and won’t ever talk to. Tell me where the lie is.

Your biggest problem is yourself.

“My dad wants Mikasa and I to come for diner tomorrow.”

“Cool.”

“You can come.”

I didn’t answer, mostly because I was too busy thinking about what I would say, and what I wanted. Did I really want to see Eren’s dad? Don’t get me wrong, I like him. Eren has the sweetest dad, well, tough too, but it’s more like the middle ground. And no matter what Eren might say, I know he loves him back.

But I didn’t want to make the effort. I didn’t want to see people I couldn’t be scaly and unmanly with. I could with Eren, I could with Jean, I could with Mikasa—and Lord knows I could with our crazy neighbours. Connie was more Eren’s friend than mine, but it didn’t make that much of a difference in the end.

Still, it meant going out, holding a conversation, providing efforts during the whole evening and trying not to swear every five words. _Ouch_.

“Okay.”

I sighed, because I knew I would regret it at the last minute, but whatever. For a moment, I expected Eren to nod, maybe to go on with something else, but he looked at me and—

“You can bring someone if you want.”

Who. Who do you want me to bring? Even if I wanted I would have no one. Everyone is already there. Eren, Mikasa. The list ends here.

I’d certainly not bring Jean, and he wouldn’t want to go anyway.

“Don’t kid me.”

“You can bring Hitch,” Eren added, and he sounded fucking serious.

“Like hell I’m bringing Hitch, I don’t even know her last name.”

“Ask her.”

“Fuck off.”

He smiled next to me and we stayed silent for a while. I thought about it, I really did—I examined every scenario, every possibility, but me asking Hitch out wasn’t nowhere near my line of business, and there was no way I’d ask a girl out to Eren’s dad’s.

You know how your friends always try to find someone for you? Usually this is shit. It never works anyway, and it’s always childish as fuck. Badly executed. Bad quality flirting. Two hours relationship, no goodbye, no crying.

But it felt different this time, not because of Eren, but because I began considering it, in the back of my mind. Just a bit. Just a tiny bit. Just… considered the thing.

“I don’t know.”

“Just do it.”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Then take her out somewhere else!” Eren sighed. “Just do it.”

“So what? So we’ll end up making out like two losers in the car I don’t have with James Blunt playin’ in the background? This is bullshit.”

“You don’t need a car. And I know for a fact that Hitch doesn’t care about much. The mess in your room, you not having a car, the amount of porn you like to—“

“Okay, fine, stop it. I’ll think about it,” I said, and those were my last words.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea, and I had no experience in that kind of stuff. But I wanted Eren to stop opening his mouth, and I wanted to get enough time to weigh the situation.

“She gave me her number the other day.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“Okay.”

We didn’t eat ’til two in the morning and everyone gathered in the living room half an hour after _Top Gear_ ended. Connie made a trip to his house to bring the chinese they were keeping in their fridge for the best occasion. There was enough for all of us, and Jean didn’t like chinese food. We ended up eating with our hands like animals, as the time went by, and we somehow separated in two groups: Jean and Sasha smoking near the window, and the rest of us empiled on the couch, talking about weird people at the supermarket.

I’ve seen this somewhere. You know, this word meaning that you realize the people around you also have a life, friends and problems, reasons and mistakes. We’re just the same, but it takes a lot to open your eyes and make the effort to actually think about it. Once it’s done, it’s done, though.

You wonder how many girls the local Indian cashier has fucked, where was the woman living at the end of the street last night, you wonder what this huge family you saw in a restaurant will have for diner the next day; it’s simple as that, but it’s enough to remember you’re not alone and in the end everyone’s living a disappointing life. That can be a reward when you have a bad day, especially when the bad day lasts three quarters of the week.

Connie went back to their house again because he wanted to cook potatoes, and potatoes was something we didn’t have. Not that we had much anyway.

He came back fifteen minutes later and god only knows what he did there. Connie put the potatoes in a corner and Eren changed channels too fast to even see what was happening, Jean and Sasha were talking louder and louder as the minutes went by, as for me and Connie, we wondered in the kitchen talking shit. When he began to cook his potatoes, it was already 2 am.

Jean fell asleep somewhere around this exact moment, and Eren settled with _Anime Network_. He didn’t really watch though ; as expected. Connie almost dropped the entire plate on the ground and Sasha laughed so hard she went outside to smoke again.

We didn’t really care about the noise we were making because the neighbourhood was dead lately, as in really dead. No one went outside to take the trash out, no one went outside to check the mailbox, no one went outside to even take the fucking car. No one.

Maybe we weren’t living at the same time, that’s what I thought at least.

Sasha took Jean’s bed when she was about to fall asleep, and the three of us stayed on the couch. I ate Connie’s cold potatoes some time after that, and Eren struggled to stay awake as he received constant nudges in the ribs.

“This _sucks_. The TV sucks, the food sucks, Jean sucks and everything sucks even more.”

Connie sighed loudly, too loudly to be really serious, and Eren didn’t even glance his way. I only watched like a curious kid, and weighed the utility of me opening my mouth to contribute to the conversation.

“Says the guy who’s got a girlfriend _and_ a swimming pool,” groaned Eren, remote in his hand, sprawled on the armrest.

“If you want a girlfriend then why don’t you go out?”

I knew they were about to start a fight, and it was too late to quietly let it happen. Some kids never grow up.

“He does,” I said.

“What? Going out? Right, the toilets must be broken so he went outside to take a piss?”

“Fuck you,” Eren replied, so loud it almost woke Jean up.

“He’s got a job.”

Connie frowned, as if he was trying to see if I was joking. Quite understandable.

“With Nanaba.”

“Nanaba? The car chick?”

“Yeah, she owns the only garage of the town,” I mocked, because everyone knew Nanaba. “He started a few days ago.”

Eren didn’t add anything, he just watched the television, but I was 100% sure he was listening to us. I could feel his eyes glancing there and there, and quickly going back to the screen. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing, he was kind of there, ready to bite if needed.

“Good,” Connie said, nodding for himself. “Good!”

“Yea.”

“What about you? Still at Erd’s store?”

“Still. They hired a new guy but they still need me too so, yeah.”

I stopped there because I knew I had a class the next day, and the idea alone of going there gave me nausea. Pretty sure Eren guessed it, because he slightly turned towards us, eyes nippy and spry, yet overly tired.

“I feel immature,” Connie sighed again before taking a sip of his soda can.

“You _are_ immature.”

“Whatever,” he laughed, “I might be a fucking child but I have a car.”

Touché.

I didn’t have a car, hell, I didn’t even know how to drive, but everytime I was tempted to be envious, I’d try to be clever and use the fact that I wouldn’t really need it anyway. I don’t go out this much. Work is not too far. And walking at night is pretty cool. Eren drives.

“By the way I’ll probably do something with Sasha tomorrow night.”

“Like what? Fucking?” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, _that_ too, but anyway. I meant a barbecue in the yard or something like that. Reiner’s coming, Ymir too. I asked Marco but he didn’t answer yet. Jean said he would come.”

I assumed it was an implicit invitation, and remembered about Eren’s dad as his eyes met mine in the almost complete darkness of the room. The light coming from the screen cleared Eren’s face before going all black again.

“We’ve got something tomorrow. Another time.”

I felt guilty a little bit, because eating shit in Connie’s garden sounded nice, especially if it was at night, with loud music (because everytime Connie did something in his yard, he’d move the speakers to the terrace) and friends.

But Eren wanted me there, and I didn’t want to go to Connie’s anyway if Eren couldn’t.

Fucked up priorities, you’d say, but I guess it makes us good friends. Reassuring is the fact that I didn’t doubt he would do the same for me. At least, I liked to think he would.

Not that he needed me to meet his dad, though. And he had Mikasa by the way. My presence there wasn’t capital, however, I knew exactly why he wanted me to go.

“Okay, alright. Too bad.” Connie took another sip and Eren turned his head back towards the TV screen.

Connie went home and we stayed there for a few minutes, lulled by Jean’s sleeping noises and the TV’s murmur. It was dark, therefore it was perfect.

“Fuck it,” Eren said as he got up, and I watched ’til he stopped, turned my way and frowned. “You coming?”

Right.

Got up as well and dodged something on the ground that I didn’t take time to recognize. Eren started walking again and just before he’d take the stairs, I closed my eyes and welcomed the familiar void before the sneeze.

It was so loud I caught a glimpse of Eren, jumping two meters ahead. He swung on his feet, eyes popped out and horrified, and I lost it. Sneezed a second time, tried not to laugh, and ended up laughing and sneezing at the same time.

For a second, I thought I’d die right here, right now, I thought that Eren would leave me here and bury my corpse two weeks after my death, when it would start to reek and mold.

But he shook his head like a desperate mom, closed his exhausted eyelids for a second, and leaned on the wall ’til I recovered.

We went upstairs and stopped between our two doors, having one of these awkward and silent moments of questioning.

“Sooo…” Eren started.

“Shut up, you look like a high schooler at the end of a date.”

He had this clear, lively laugh and I saw his white teeth appearing in the dark.

And when he went quiet again, it happened again. This terrible silence, asking what we couldn’t ask. He was trying to see if I wanted him to sleep with me, and I was trying to see if he wanted me to do so. It was like chasing a shadow at night—you can always try, but you’ll look stupid.

We got used to the dim light and I noticed he was looking straight at me. But before I could say anything, he turned and opened his door.

“I need sleep,” he whispered and his door closed.

I scratched my forehead, took a breath and opened mine. Eren would be the death of me.

I guess he’s like a small, quiet child. He tries to look and act tough, but inside, he’s just begging for company, help and affection. It’s hopeless. The thing with Eren, though, is that you can never guess what he really wants. Sometimes it looks obvious, but then he does something that implies the contrary. And you’re lost there, a few meters away, stuck with good intentions and absolutely no clue.

Whatever.

I needed sleep too.

I looked at the clock three times but never could remember what time it was, and gave up when I came to the conclusion that it was way too late. That’s it.

Too dead to jack off, too full to eat the white bread you hid in your nightstand drawer, too thoughtful to close your eyes. That’s a pretty good summary. Searched for my headphones in the dark, sounded out everything, tripped on an old shirt, stepped on my shoes, and hit the bottom of my bed with one innocent, tiny toe.

In the end, I spent more time scrolling for the right song than listening to any of them. Ended up playing a random album because I was too lazy to keep searching, and ended up listening to it fifteen times because I was too lazy to unlock my phone and search for another one.

What a goddamn life! Call 911 pls.

My phone vibrated in my hand when I was about to fall asleep, and I looked at the screen, eyes half closed.

_From: Eren_  
_Hehh level 265_

I laughed all alone and pulled on my headphones to remove them. Just when the music faded away, I heard Eren flushing the toilets, then a loud bam! and Eren groaning loudly for ten solid seconds. Smiled again.

Sleeping, right!

When I opened my eyes again, my neck was hurting and the room was full of light. Glanced at the clock on my nightstand and my spirit disappeared when I realized I was twenty minutes late for my class. I looked at the ceiling, sighed at a thousandth dilemma, and decided to skip this class. Like most of my classes, actually. Like pretty much each of them.

I didn’t have work today. I didn’t have a girlfriend to be awake for. I didn’t have anything pushing me to become a decent human being.

So I closed my eyes again and went back to sleep.


	3. the one with cold pizza and the dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illegal car racing and cold pizzas are for the tough ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I feel like Roco is only made of my own frustrations and mentality and it's kinda frustrating at times. But this chapter was kind of important because I can start writing about other things now, like the beginning of the sexual tension shit between Armin and Eren, or Armin dating Hitch, or Eren's new hobbies with cars.
> 
> There is so much shit to come. Not necessarily drama, just shit. Roco is getting really serious and heavy and I'm seeking for light subjects to make it more enjoyable for the next chapters. I like angsty unhealthy romance but for now everyone's a virgin so why not fuck around a little.
> 
> Also someone asked me if they could draw fanart of this story and I'll never say it loud enough: hell yes, you don't even ask me, as you as link me the thing. So thank you Hope for [your fanart](http://lotadqueen.tumblr.com/post/105891335150/she-was-wearing-a-black-dress-with-no-sleeves) it's really cute. You can also check [my Roco tag](http://mh418/tagged/roco) on my tumblr to see what's going on, like updates, songs related, fanart, things that make me think of it or refs I'll use. 
> 
> So yeah I guess that's all. Dyed my hair green like I wanted and Christmas was fucked up. I think I'm gonna finish watching Shameless US because it has the Roco spirit so much it actually hurts.
> 
> The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

Mikasa’s car was a tiny red _Peugeot_ in which we could barely enter. Five doors, although it looked like a engineering degree was essential to seat in this fucking machine. I took the passenger seat, Eren the backseat, and Mikasa drove with all her grace. Pretty sure all these hours spent playing _Twisted Metal_ were only made to persuade her city cops were only just a local legend. A myth. Not saying that she didn’t know how to drive, she just didn’t care, that was about it.

Eren wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, he was casually leaning his elbows on both of our seats, and the whole ride felt surreal. You don’t get to live something like this everyday, because Mikasa both looks and acts like a character coming straight out of a car racing video game, as for Eren, he looks like the idiot who steals cars but always gets caught two minutes after because he ran into a wall and couldn’t escape.

Mikasa stopped at the red light, which I congratulated her for, and Eren decided it would be a sweet thought to scream two centimeters away from my ear.

“So when are we getting home?”

“We just left, Eren,” Mikasa sighed without even looking at him. “And I won’t tolerate any excuse coming from you. You’ll go there. You’ll stay.”

He did his _fuck it_ kind of frown, then sat back and crossed his arms. At this point, Mikasa was more of a mother than a sister to him, and I knew for a fact none of their parents were as strict as she was. But things couldn’t be compared, right? I mean Mikasa goes to the gym three times a week and regularly smokes what she shouldn’t. I’m not a cop, and Eren definitely isn’t either—but the rules she was applying weren’t the same.

It’s up to you to decide if you prefer to say swear words and drink alcohol with no limit or stay at home a Friday night and wake up healthy as fuck the day after. What’s good with Mikasa, though, is that she won’t try to get into your private business. Unlike most of curious, no-boundaries type of Moms.

I don’t get it. How they can just open a door and enter their child’s universe, subconsciously wanting to prove themselves their precious newborn of eleven years old does not watch porn late at night. How can you be so intrusive and ignorant at the same time?

Anyway, Eren didn’t say anything and we drove in silence.

Until Mikasa’s phone vibrated. And when I reached out to answer at her place, she cringed.

“No, don’t.”

“Why?” I looked at her, suspiscious, at it vibrated three or four more times. Then the screen got dark again and she seemed to relax a bit. I had just enough time to catch the name on it, actually. “It’s Grisha. Why won’t you answer the phone?”

“Because we’re two minutes from there now. He has to learn what being patient means. He’s a doctor. He should know.”

Caught a glimpse of Eren rolling his eyes back into his head in the rearview mirror, and somehow got the violent impression that this dinner wasn’t going to end well. For some reason, the Jaeger family had shit to solve, and they were about to fight for a piece of meat—in other words, me. Not because I had any importance, not because I had something to do with any of them, but because they were two against one, and my presence could change a lot of things.

Looked outside and quietly wondered what Connie was doing at this exact moment, but ended up not wanting to know, because this asshole probably was chilling in the backyard of his cheese-smelling house, kissing his girlfriend and totally enjoying the fact that he didn’t have to visit his family.

I didn’t, either. I hated family dinners. This shit never ends well—and if it does, then you can be 100% sure everyone has been hypocritic for two hours and a half to three hours, because everyone knows it’s always a matter of onion.

The racist uncle, the invasive and too personal aunt, the anti-technology/anti-youth grandpa, and if the grandma is still alive, then she’s most likely stuck a few decades earlier, passing out at the sight of her grand-children wearing short skirts and hardcore metal sweatshirts. Whatever.

Fortunately enough, I didn’t have to worry about that. I only had my grandfather, and the guy was the sweetest on the whole Earth, I swear. As for my parents, the thinking wouldn’t go too far—they weren’t there, ending point. Even if they were, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t care about much. They’d make sure I still drink enough water, that I visit when my throat is sore, that I maintain my relationships, and maybe, just maybe, did the effort to find a girlfriend.

Which I still hadn’t.

But, you know, life. Mother wants grandchildren, and Father wants his son to get rich. Hope is a strong word in this family.

“What the _fuck_! You just missed it.”

Eren shouted so loudly I almost jumped, but then understood why he had done that. Mikasa was frowning at the road, and suddenly, there was no traffic anymore. No car, no passerby, just plain darkness and forgotten gardens with plastic bags and half-destroyed fences.

“What’s this shit?”

“Your friendly neighbourhood,” sang Mikasa as she grabbed the steering wheel to go back.

Eren looked at the windows like a curious kid passing by Disneyland, but the disgust on his face wasn’t only here because of the old, filthy plastic chairs left alone on the sidewalk. I thought of calling him out and distracting him, but didn’t.

It had changed so much around here. Guess that’s the kick in the teeth you need to realize you’re growing up.

Mikasa looked at me, I looked at her, and we drove back to the corner.

Grisha’s house was a little, regular family house. Enough space for the 2,5 children, and a pretty acceptable garden. In size, only, because Carla’s ghost lingered in every forgotten plant, shrub, bush, weed. If the lights inside weren’t turned on, we could falsely think this place was abandoned as well.

She stopped the car in front of the alley, where Grisha’s car only could fit, though Mikasa’s was tiny enough to take a chance. Safety for safety, however, and we all got out of the roaring machine as she switched off the ignition.

“Haven’t been here in ages.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Mikasa threw from above her shoulder, and I looked behind us.

This neighbourhood was right under a bridge, less than a kilometer away from it, and the river was straight behind the street. Rusty bikes, pieces of trash and mudd pretty much everywhere the weeds wouldn’t cover.

The house I had lived in wasn’t far away from here, I could actually go by walking—but these memories were behind us, behind me, and I wouldn’t risk such a dark journey back to my childhood secrets.

Mikasa arrived at the door first, because she walked faster than us, but when she stopped under the porch and rang the bell, Eren passed her by and opened the door without hesitation. She groaned, they both entered, and I followed like I was supposed to.

Family dinner oblige, I had to change. I had to actually shower and wash my filthy body. I had to strip, to put a feet in the shower, then the another one, and turn the water on. Accessorily, I also had to wait until it would be warm enough, and the hardest, find clean clothes.

Can’t complain, though, because the amount of times I had spent searching for it wasn’t much compared to what Eren had to spend. And to be honest, I’m not even sure what he was wearing at the moment was exactly clean.

Who knows.

Entering the house felt like watching a rugby game. Entertaining, but quite stressful, as you never know how it will end. Will someone die? Fuck, does it hurt? Ow man, what’s that—ow, that’s a bone coming straight out of a limb! Need help?

“Already regretting this.”

“Then regret it, but please remember that you had me coming here with you. Thank me and you can go back home to play _League of Legends_ with a pack of out of date chips.”

“ _League of Legends_ is for single losers.”

“You are a single loser, Eren.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

I tried to remember the last time I came to this house and wondered if I should remove my shoes, but since none of them did it, I didn’t either. Grisha came downstairs after some time, his face twisted by sudden surprise, and pushed his glasses up his long nose.

“Eren. Mikasa.” I waited like a patient kid for my name’s mention, but he didn’t say anything, hell, he didn’t even look at me.

“Hi Dad.”

Mikasa removed her jacket, threw it on an empty chair and rushed to the kitchen, and Eren just stood there, wondering if he should make the first move. I watched silently, not really sure if I should stay here and wait for my turn or join Mikasa and be an impolite little shit. Grisha knew me well, but that wasn’t enough of an excuse. Besides, I felt like Eren needed mental company.

They stared at each other like animals for some time, and a wave of discomfort. It could have been worse, I knew it perfectly—because Eren and his father weren’t nowhere near silent hate. But that was, more precisely, the main problem here.

“How are you?” I thought he’d never ask.

“Fine,” Eren replied, so fast it felt extremely dry, and knowing him, drier than he intended. So he relaxed a bit, talked slower, lower, and tried to make up for it. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t ask about him, and Grisha didn’t say anything about it either. I thought about scratching my ear to chill out, but the noise would have been too much of a distraction, and the least I wanted was to interrupt this strange, yet pretty much mesmerizing father to son exchange. And what a fucking exchange.

Mikasa appeared in the kitchen doorframe and looked in our direction. Since none of them were moving, she looked at me, and I shrugged. I swear I can still remember the desperate sigh that got out of her throat just before she’d go back in.

Then, out of the blue, Eren moved. Not only did he move; he went to the kitchen without a word, both irritated and ill-at-ease, and I embraced sudden anxiety wrenching the air out of my lungs.

“Armin,” Grisha turned to me, and almost looked sorry. No, scratch that—he didn’t look sorry, he looked sad. He looked sad like a nearly fifty years old widower man would be.

“I'm sorry about Eren.” I didn’t really mean it, to be honest, I was just trying to lighten the mood.

“Ha, don’t worry ‘bout that. He’s always been that way after all, right? I can still remember both of you getting home scorched and bloody because you didn’t know how to drive bikes. That was his idea, and he felt so bad about hurting you that he didn’t say a word. And since you two are the most loyal kids I have ever seen, that had been Mikasa’s job to tell me what happened back there.” He smiled and I listened quietly, because he looked too deep in his own souvenirs to be brought back to reality. “I guess he’s like his mother. She cared too much, but she would never admit it.”

And that’s how the subject came on. Eren’s mother. My throat felt dry and I suddenly hoped he wasn’t listening from the kitchen, because it wouldn’t bring anything good. But Eren was, most likely, eating something next to Mikasa, because having a dinner at Grisha’s wasn’t like a regular family reunion. Thus, the regular rules didn’t apply.

“Is it a bad thing?” I asked, and this time, I really wanted to be answered. I wanted to know. I wanted to see if Eren was as important to him as his wife had been, although it could have been stupid to even ask.

He resumed his thin lips, looked at me from behind his old glasses, and tilted his head in a friendly manner.

“We’ll see.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but didn’t have time to ask, because Grisha walked towards the kitchen as well, and I followed him. At least, when we entered the room, Eren was laughing, dodging as he could Mikasa’s rag blows.

Grisha didn’t snarl, he was too tired to resist, but I closed my eyes for a second and it almost felt like we were still the same kids as before. Too young, too reckless, too ignorant—yet we didn’t need more than this.

One hour later, we were all sitting in the kitchen and Eren got somehow relaxed, too. He wasn’t exactly talking with him, but he was reacting, and that was better than nothing. You don’t need to be clever to see Grisha was making a real effort, and he had put great energy into this family thing. Mikasa was a little older, and she was more mature on some subjects; this one included.

“So I heard you got a job?” Grisha asked at some point, and Eren’s eyes slid towards me in such a rush I almost cringed. Shook my head, because I had, in no way, leaked the information, and that’s when he turned towards Mikasa, next to whom he was sitting.

She held her hands up to justify her innocence but clearly she didn’t seem sorry. There was nothing to be sorry about in the first place. That’s a pretty small town; news are quick to travel and nothing stays quiet too long. It was only a matter of time before someone’d talk to him about Eren’s job.

Maybe living in a big city would be less of a problem, because you’re lost in the crowd and no one hears you, no one sees you, you’re a shadow, a ghost, you’re not quite existing. Here, you sure are. Freedom has a price and it’s partly the weight of people looking at you when you cross the road, not necessarily because they know you, but because you’re not like them—and they can see you. Hell, this is the worst, because I actually like it here.

Not really here, just somewhere you can stay quiet. I’d rather live a lonely and tranquil life than a rushed one with a void I could get drowned in. I mean, just open your window, you’re living in a goddamn skyscraper, right? Why don’t you jump?

It would all end here.

“What?” She said, but really, she didn’t care in the least. “He asked me. I told him.” Obviously.

“My car’s broken,” he followed, not leaving enough time for Eren to protest. “Could you fix it?”

“I don’t know, how much are you willing to pay me for doing shit at your place?”

“Eren!” Mikasa interrupted, but he looked at her like she didn’t make sense. A quick frown and he got back to Grisha.

He sighed. And as usual, I simply watched.

“How much do you need?” he finally replied, and like a bomb arriving in the middle of the conversation, by sheer accident, everyone fell silent.

Because Eren knew Grisha didn’t have much. Because Grisha knew Eren didn’t have much.

Mikasa looked at me with sad eyes and I wondered if we had just reached the highest point of the conversation. Then she sighed, slid her arm around Eren’s, and looked at the table in front of us like there was nothing else to do. I guess that’s true.

“I don’t need your money.”

“I want to—“

“This is fucking bullshit, I _don’t need_ your money,” Eren repeated louder, and my breath stopped in my throat.

But Grisha nodded and let it go, like he’d always do, because Eren was kind of a desperate case we couldn’t argue with. Not only did he always want the last word, he would, above all, refuse to hear any other point of view.

The two of them were like fire and ice. Eren had been asked to get a job for so long, but Grisha had lost his as a doctor because of heavy alcoholism. I’ve always suspected Eren to fear one and only thing: become like him. It’s not really that Grisha is a bad example, he’s not bad to begin with, he’s kind hearted and spent most of his life trying to heal people he didn’t even know (when, on the other side, Eren waited for him at home and he would never arrive). It’s just that he knows—he knows it could happen to him.

He and Mikasa began to talk about her private life, not so private for us, to tell the truth, but Eren and I decided we’d go under the porch to smoke. He needed air, and I needed him.

We sat on the only step, so low our knees would touch our chests. He didn’t say anything, at first, and just pulled out a pack of cigarettes I knew he had borrowed from Jean a few hours before. He took one, hesitated, then closed it. I knew why.

I watched as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and absentmindedly lighted it.

“You’re really two fucking stubborn idiots, you know that.”

He breathed out, a tiny cloud of smoke danced in the air before disappearing completely. Eren turned to me, with a frown and serious eyes, but in a few seconds his face became softer and he smiled.

“Can’t help it I guess.”

“No,” I confirmed. “Indeed.”

He offered me the cigarette, just like I knew he would, and I took it after a few useless doubts. I didn’t particularly need to smoke, I didn’t smoke as much as Jean or Sasha did, and Mikasa didn’t smoke cigarettes. Truth is, I don’t know if you’ve ever smoked with someone, and by smoking, I mean sharing a cigarette—it’s something particular that I can’t really explain, but it’s really, really great, and it feels really, really good.

Mostly because it was Eren.

But you know, it’s just the fact of being there, of breathing fresh air, and being with someone. You’re the only one he’ll see, talk to, you’re the only person present right here, right now, and it’s a precious crack through time. And sharing a cigarette, that’s like being offered something more than a deadly stick. Actually, you can share a cigarette with anyone, really, but sometimes you just know.

As far as I can remember, I’ve never seen Eren offering his own cigarette to someone he didn’t know.

“When are your parents getting back home?” he asked, taking the cigarette I was handling back to him.

I looked at the empty street and the ghost of joyful kids screaming along the fences. I can remember Mikasa and his middle school crop tops, I can remember Eren and the holes in his shoes because he’d run too much. Some kids just can’t sit down and shut up, right? Eren’s one of these.

A wave of nostalgy rose in my guts and I pushed it back with a sigh.

“Probably not soon. Mom called the other day, but I didn’t answer.”

“Why?”

“Why would I?”

“It’s your mom.”

I know.

A silence, a long silence, and we passed the cigarette several times.

“They must be happy where they are. They’re travelling, that’s what they’ve always wanted to do, right? But they never could, because they had me.”

“Yeah, but they knew they could’ve just asked Dad to make you some place here. They wouldn’t he wouldn’t have hesitated. And they didn’t.”

Whatever. I can hardly be grateful based on this only argument, the fact that, indeed, they prefered to wait for me to be legal to leave. It’s not valid. It doesn’t work like that.

“Still angry?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah.”

Eren shifted a bit and I assumed he got a little closer. It was still fresh outside, because it was the end of the year, more precisely the season of snow. It was only a matter of days, or weeks, before it’d cover the roads, the lakes, the rooftops.

“Have you showered?”

He raised an eyebrow and looked in the distance.

“Course I did, Dad would have let me outside if I didn’t. Why you ask.”

“Remind me to buy you a new shampoo for Christmas. You stink.”

“Fuck you, it’s _Fresh Peach_.”

I just snorted, because Eren didn’t shower much, and this sounded like a fucking kid shampoo. The smell didn’t really bother me, however, I just liked to tease him and he’d always fall for it.

“I hope you choke on your fucking cigarette,” he said as I wrapped my lips around the stick, and as if he had planned it from the beginning, at the very last second, I started coughing so violently I gave the cigarette back to him.

And he laughed. So clearly, so loudly—it fucking echoed everywhere like he did when he was a kid. That kind of laugh so easy and pure you can’t help but smiling, if not laughing as well.

We did not have time to finish our conversation, made of sighs and laughters, because something moved behind us and we jumped at the same time.

“What the _fuck_!” Eren snarled.

“Mikasa!”

She sniggered all of sudden and turned around to go back inside.

“Boys, we’re waiting for you, come on.”

The door closed and we could still hear her soft laughter clattering through the walls.

Eren seemed to feel better because no one argued for the rest of the dinner. Grisha cooked fish and rice, nothing extraordinary, and ended up talking more than eating anyway.

He went to the toilets two or three times, and I suspect him going upstairs to check his old room, even though there was nothing left. Just the skeleton of his existence here, silent and forgotten: a bed with a mattress but no sheets, content-deprived furniture, an old poster of _Pearl Jam_ he had left here and never took back. Just small things.

We left before midnight and when Mikasa sat on her driver seat, she stayed still.

“What are you doing?” Eren frowned, but didn’t move.

“Thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” I asked, because someone had to.

“‘Bout nothing, shh.”

There was a perfect silence for a good solid minute, and then she turned halfway towards the both of us, a vague smile on her face. Everything was dark, it seemed like there was no moon outside, not here—but the lights inside the car were enough to distinguish her messy bun and the look in her eyes.

“I have to go somewhere, you’ll wait in the car. Won’t be long.”

She had this “don’t ask questions” kind of tone, thus no one disagreed, even though we were all pretty eager to go home and maybe, maybe join Connie and the rest of the group.

Mikasa started the car and it roared like an old, tired tiger—then she drove off the sidewalk and the lights went out. It was cold, but we still opened the windows because it was a good occasion to breathe a last gust of fresh air before staying locked up inside the house for a few days. I knew myself well enough to admit I wasn’t going to go to class this week, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go outside without a reason.

Apparently, though, I didn’t have any. For now.

We were almost there when she stopped at a crossroad and turned the steering wheel so violently the car almost groaned. And it’s a small town—small town means little lights, and the first that struck me was the huge, bright, red and blue _Kelly’s_ sign.

“You’re not going to work now, are you?” Eren freaked out, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not, idiot,” she reached out for the long shoulder strap of her little leather bag and opened the door without a word.

“Spare us some stupid questions and save your energy, she obviously isn’t going to say what she’s doing here.”

That was the cue—and in a silent mutual agreement, we both leaned forward to follow Mikasa’s silhouette. Eren sat on the big armrest between the two front seats, and I turned the radio off.

“You see anything?”

“I’m trying…” Eren said, but Mikasa somehow got lost between the tables and customers inside the restaurant.

I was gonna give up from tired, unsatisfied curiosity when his hand slapped my shoulder way too hard.

“Shit, look!” I hunched a little bit more, his fierce fingers firmly grabbing my shirt to show me the right angle. “That’s Hitch.”

“Hitch?”

“Yeah.” He squinted and kept his eyes in this direction as his head slightly turned towards me. “What’s she doing here, do you think?”

I shrugged under his hand and although he released my shirt, his hand stayed there.

“Mikasa didn’t—“

“Hold on, she’s coming!” And Eren’s hand immediately grabbed my shirt again. What the fuck. “Shhh.”

“They can’t hear us asshole.”

“Whatever,” he said, and straightened up a bit. “They’re both coming out, what did you do?”

“Nothing!”

I frowned and tried to free myself from his grip but he didn’t seem to care. And like I knew he would, he got carried away by several layers of excitement, curiosity and irritation—the hard task is to know which one is what.

 

“Did you call her?”

“No—“

“Shit, that’s such an ass move, you could have told me that—“

He didn’t finish his sentence because Mikasa and Hitch stopped in front of the restaurant, Mikasa with something in her hand, and Hitch with a cigarette between her lips that she most likely was about to light. We stayed silent even though it wouldn’t help hearing anything, because they were way too far. The parking lot was mostly empty, and the only thing we could hear was the familiar sound of cars passing by and Eren breathing.

Then Hitch nodded and put something back in the pocket of her yellow uniform dress. She touched her white collar, probably an habit she didn’t know she had, and nodded again. Mikasa turned around and started walking towards us, and Hitch returned into the shop.

Mikasa had barely opened her door Eren was already talking.

“What did you two talked about? Did you talk about Armin?”

I suddenly felt irritated for being mentioned like I wasn’t there, like Eren would often do without necessarily caring. I couldn’t really see what I had to do with Hitch, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But Eren, Eren’s this kind of excited friend who will feel exactly what you’re feeling. He’ll push you further, encourage you, and be brutally honest when needed. He’s the one that would never stop fighting for you to get the girlfriend you deserve, and that left me feeling weird.

“No,” Mikasa threw what she had in her hands on the backseat next to Eren and closed her door. “The new boss is a fucking dickhead and he asked us to wash our uniform ourselves. And of course, there’s a washing machine at the back of the restaurant, and we’re not allowed to use it anymore. Fuck you.” A short pause. “I forgot to take my dress with me when I left this morning, so I thought I would pick it up now, better late than never right.”

Eren sat back and I was about to ask something in my turn when _Kelly’s_ doors opened again, this time, with Hitch wearing a banal blue dress and outdated sneakers. That distracted me enough to forget what I was about to say, but Mikasa went on anyway.

“She’s working with me and the girl who was supposed to drive her home left earlier than planned, so, I asked if she wanted a ride and she said yes.”

Eren’s face got light as fuck like he had somehow accomplished something crazy. I didn’t care, to be honest; if we could give her a ride when she needed one then where’s the problem? But I knew that was the beginning of something I wasn’t about to like, something like Eren constantly asking questions when really, there was no answer. Not to Hitch, but to me, in the morning, in the middle of the afternoon, when I’m about to fall asleep on the edge of the sofa.

That’s some middle school shit and I had never really lived anything like that. Friends, trying to put you with someone just because, why not. That’s exactly the reason why I don’t need this middle school shit. And that’s exactly why Eren smiled at her when Hitch opened the door behind me, swiftly sliding on the backseat.

Eren grabbed Mikasa’s dresses and I noticed in the rearview that she, also, was bringing hers home. A small yellow dress, smaller than Mikasa’s, who was taller than the average. That looked like a doll’s clothing, and her blonde, almost surreal hair swinging around her cheeks had nothing human. Not necessarily in a bad way, though; I guess I was just too used to our own filthy, neglected lifestyle.

Our eyes met in the rearview mirror and I looked away instantly, more by reflex than will. A few seconds later, she looked away too, and I vaguely turned my head to follow the conversation I was already missing.

“—Yeah, thank you.” She smiled. She fucking smiled.

I put my elbow on the opened window and looked outside to distract me. I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me, but Eren’s words were echoing in my head and I was just there, like the most impolite and shy idiot ever, wondering if that was worth a shot.

Yet it’s only hunger. It’s like having a pack of chips next to you, and just eat one, two, three, then stop at four because you’re not that hungry after all. But you’re bored, so it only takes a minute for you to pick a fifth one, and you didn’t need it. Not really.

That’s Hitch. That’s a fucking bonus life is giving me, and I’m not even sure I want it.

“Is it okay if we stop somewhere else before?”

She nodded like a little girl but her eyes somehow felt more mature. Not that she looked too young, actually, because she was too thin, small than Mikasa, and her pale face somehow gave the impression she was sick—but her facial features, the way she looked at everyone, with patience, contained amusement, and guenine sympathy, or just the way she would tuck this particular blonde strand behind her right ear; nothing felt childish.

She was like us, like everyone, and I suddenly realized I didn’t know her. Nothing, just her name, just that simple, short word of only a few ridiculous letters. I felt like, no one did.

Maybe she lived in another universe, or maybe she was just too quiet, too small for us to notice. And again, I was wrong, because when I looked again, she was laughing with Eren like they knew each other since fifth grade. Her mouth wide opened, an honest, almost brutal laughter, and a confident voice I was hearing for the first time tonight.

“Armin?”

Something snapped and I got back to reality. Mikasa was turned towards me, her sweet voice almost drowned in the chaos coming from behind. She looked a bit worried, but when I lifted a questioning eyebrow, she hesitated.

“What’s on your mind?”

The _Kelly’s_ lights twinkled in the distance and I smelled Hitch’s girly perfume.

“Nothing, I’m just tired.” I wasn’t really lying.

But she still knew. She always knew.

“We’re going home now.”

A ghostly smile and she started the car, her long fingers wrappers around the wheel. I caught her gaze lingering on me just a few seconds, with care and weariness, just like everyone here. And then I imagined another life for us, a life we would have deserved, something we could enjoy without staring at the ceiling, stupidly wondering if we should close our eyes or keep staring.

Mikasa had always been the tough one in the group. She’d never cry after falling, she’d always help at home, the best she could, with Carla and the food, with Grisha and the love he didn’t have time to give to Eren, with Eren himself and his bad habit of getting himself into troubles and fighting everyone who’d volunteer—which is something he still had, by the way. Guess he’s that way after all.

But, really, Mikasa deserved so much more. And she was still here. Working in a bum, measly retro restaurant. She had to dress like was living in the 50’s, she had to cope with rude guys trying to reach out for her ass, with impolite family mothers treating her like shit, with pretentious kids who’ve never dealt with this many problems in their lives.

And that’s—that’s fucking sick.

“So,” I started when we got out of the parking lot. “What about Grisha’s car?”

“Dad said he’d call Nanaba tomorrow morning, he really needs it fixed. If Eren’s not going to fix it, then it’ll be her. I don’t know, what can I say, I don’t think either of them cared about the money to be honest.”

I knew she was right. Mikasa was the safest choice, because most of the time, she really was.

“Looks like it. But trying to communicate is really tough, eh.”

She smiled and glanced in my direction, but soon enough, I started listening to their conversation again.

“What about you?” someone asked, and when the silence followed, I somehow realized I had been asked something.

“What?”

Fucking impolite. But, well.

I turned on my seat and met Hitch’s gaze. A curious, lively gaze. Her fringe would soon fall before her eyes, but I could still see the color of it, a strange hazel brown fading to an autumnal green. And with her short beige hair, it looked quite pretty. She looked like the enbodiment of melancholy, yet her voice was loud enough to prove she didn’t care.

“Your age. How old are you?”

That looked like a boring interview, the typical one. The small questions asking me to prove I’m not a robot.

“I’m twenty-one.” I frowned a moment, like I wasn’t sure of the veracity of my own words, but I looked at Eren to get a silent confirmation, and he didn’t correct me. “I’m Armin.”

“I know.”

Hell, you want to be polite and you’re talking for nothing, that’s what you get.

She seemed to hesitate about introducing herself, probably because she perfectly knew she wasn’t a stranger in our conversations; it’s not being arrogant, it’s only being smart. Thus she gave me a quick smile, almost embarrassed, and I looked away again.

Look at me, with this big mouth, saying all day Eren can’t let people in when really I’m the one shutting down the whole system. Maybe it’s being a hypocrite, or maybe I just don’t want to admit it.

I had to swallow a bitter mix of spit and sudden irritation.

Mikasa said something I didn’t quite hear and they all started talking again. I guess I had an absence during the whole trip, because before I could connect to reality again, Mikasa was parking in the alley, where the light above the front door was still on. Either Jean had forgotten to turn it off, either he was back, or maybe he didn’t leave at all.

Surprisingly enough, everyone got out of the car, and I wondered if they would all enter. Like, like Hitch, more precisely. I felt kind nervous knowing perfectly how we had left the house, pretty much exactly the same way we leave it every day. Which means plates everywhere, and I sure as hell won’t tell you how long they’ve been there, even underwear, not-so-romantic posters on every wall, and way too much dust.

I don’t know much about girls. Some are cool, some are less cool—it’s just a matter of opinion, and in a general view, girls are really nice creatures.

But Hitch? Hitch looked like she had never cried in her whole life, because she also looked like she gave zero fuck about anything. Still, being disgusted is pretty easy, and somehow, I didn’t want her to be.

Not really.

But they simply stopped next to the car, and Eren politely nodded at her as a quiet goodbye. Considering they had been talking during the entire trip, I felt kinda weird, because I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. And there she was, now, looking at me with huge, harmless eyes.

Since Eren and Mikasa were talking in front of the fence, I had no other choice than destroying the meter that was separating us.

“So, thank you for the ride, I guess.”

“Thank Mikasa, that’s her car after all.” I tried not to sound too dry with my words, so I forced a quick smile, not even sure she’d notice.

“Right,” she said, and I felt genuinely surprised when she smiled. Just like that, for no reason, when I expected her to feel offended by my cruel lack of skill in human interactions. “But thank you anyway.”

We leaned our backs on the side of Mikasa’s _Peugeot_ and stared at the house.

“You live here?” I nodded. “With him?” Nodded again. “Cool, that’s awesome.”

And she fucking. Sounded. _Honest_.

“I have a small flat but it gets lonely pretty quickly.” I listened to hear, more relaxed than I thought I’d be, and started breathing normally. Like. Actually enjoying the not-so-pure yet refreshing air finding their way to my lungs. “You were at the party last week, right?”

I didn’t have to think about it a lot, because I could easily picture her crossing the room, and the way I felt when Mikasa pronounced her name near the pool. It felt so close to my ear.

“Yeah, we were all.” And then suddenly, for no reason, I felt kind of offended that she asked—because it meant she wasn’t sure it was me.

“I think I saw you.”

My brain shut down and started again. Everything was white, but it felt nice.

I would have cringed at her words, because once again, it would normally mean she wasn’t sure. But the way she smiled while looking at the peaceful night around us, that was—well that was fucking shy.

She knew. She perfectly knew I was there. She was just trying to make a conversation, to keep it going while Eren’s voice echoed loudly in the empty street, and it worked.

“I saw you too.”

She turned her head in my way and I looked at her by pure reflex. Then our eyes met and she slightly opened her mouth like she was about to add something, but didn’t.

Her eyes slid on me to get back on the house, and I felt like a stupid high schooler flirting for the first time with the girl in his math class who’s probably never heard of him. Ever.

Difference was, Hitch saw me first.

Mikasa groaned all of sudden and it distracted me enough to lead me to individual thoughts, and when Hitch’s shoulder accidentally brushed mine, I gained my usual, careless confidence, the one I had left at Eren’s house.

“So, how old are you? You didn’t say.”

“I’m twenty-three,” she said with a light voice. For the first time, I appreciated it like, somehow, the more I talked, the easier. “But people have always told me I look like I’m twelve, well, they’re not wrong.”

I grinned. And she grinned too.

“Actually, no,” I started, and already regretted what I was about to say, because the surprise on Hitch’s face was overwhelming. “You don’t look this young. I mean you don’t look _old_ but—you, hm.”

She started looking at me with huge eyes again, asking for the words stuck in my throat, but I couldn’t say it for the only reason that I didn’t know how to finish this sentence. I was going nowhere and Hitch’s presence was weirdly waking me up, like the hour before getting drunk—that’s when you reach the peak of it, somewhere between the numbness and the headache, and for a moment it feels like nothing’s impossible. Nothing feels real.

And when she saw I was searching for my words, she laughed so suddenly my heart almost jumped in my chest. And she kept laughing when I looked at her with hopeless eyes, the ones saying _please don’t laugh at me I’m trying my best_.

“Come _on_ ,” and her voice had never felt so lively, “you’re blushing like a firetruck!”

I laughed a little, stuck between vague embarrassement and spiritual peace.

“Whatever, just… don’t listen to them.”

Her teeth disappeared behind her lips when she resumed it, but the smile never faded, not even a second.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked, kind of taken aback, but I didn’t have time to get an answer, because Mikasa stopped in front of us and just like that, the spell was broken.

“I’m ready.”

I nodded, took it as a cue and pushed myself off the car, but slightly turned around to look at Hitch, who was looking back at me like we were thinking the same thing.

Wondering how to fucking say goodbye.

I mean, come on, you’re twenty-one, you’ve got bills to pay, a job to go, studies to bear, yet the only thing stressing the fuck out of you is how to say goodbye to his person you’ve seen four times in your entire life, and only talked to once. Nice.

“We’ll meet again,” she said when it looked obvious I didn’t know what to tell her, and her voice had no hesitation, no doubt. She meant it.

I nodded again, Mikasa kissed my cheek and they both turned towards the car—but when Hitch closed her door, walked turned back to me.

“I didn’t say thank you for tonight. I mean Eren and Dad, they have a hard time talking to each other lately, and I’m not sure it would have been this easy without you.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I replied, and it was the truth. I had been there, that’s all.

“No, you were with Eren. He felt it. That’s why he made the effort.”

I stayed silent and she turned around, got in the car, started it. By the time she was driving off the street, I was still standing there, thinking about what she had just said.

Until Eren’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“Dude, you’re not going in?”

“Aren’t you going to Connie’s thing?”

He looked at me, not really hesitating, more like taking his time. His hand fell back against his hip and he shrugged.

“No, not tonight.”

One of the streetlights twinkled slightly and we both walked up the alley to go home. Because it’s what it is: home.

We don’t have much, but what we have is important. What we have, whether it is a friend, a mattress, of a large amount of discovery channels on the TV, is there because you wanted it. Maybe you don’t need it, but who cares, it’s there.

We crashed on the sofa, didn’t bother turning the TV off, and quite appreciated the silence while Jean wasn’t there. We wondered about what they were doing in the house right next to ours, Connie’s, we talked about what they were probably talking about too. It didn’t lead to much but isn’t it like that all the time?

Eren fell asleep on the couch at some point, because we weren’t talking anymore, and when I turned to him because my question had been left unanswered, I saw his eyes closed and his face blank. It’s cold as balls during winter season, especially here, in this fucking town, and our neighbourhood isn’t much better. So I took an old cover and threw it on his sleepy body, wishing he wouldn’t be dead in the morning.

I was too tired to wake him up, too tired to brush my teeth or close my door, and ended up only removing my pants before falling asleep in my bed. For once, I had time to get under the covers.

Isn’t it weird, though, how night can be your playground when you’re young and careless? Why? I mean, there’s nothing special about it. The shops are closed, you can’t buy anything to eat, drink, you can’t drive or go wherever you want and it can be gloomy quite easily.

But the silence. Just. The fucking silence everywhere. No one to criticize, no one to piss you off, no one to look at you like a neighbour going out to check the mailbox, quietly wondering if you’re selling drugs in your free time. There’s no dog to fucking bark at you for just slowly walking in front of him, there is no girl to whisper each other how much they find you cute, and as much as it can boost the ego, it can be as annoying as accidentally opening _Internet Explorer_.

Because there’s nothing worst than accidentally opening _Internet Explorer_.

Try it out, once. Try to fucking hold back your tears as you’re counting seconds before throwing your computer out of the nearest window. Defenestration is the power of actual, real life rage-quit.

8 am. I needed to piss but somehow not as much as I needed to stay there.

I was sitting at the window, high on my bookshelf, when the door creaked. Eren’s fingers grabbed the line of the wooden door and a few brown stands slowly appeared.

“You’re awake?” he asked when he spotted me a few meters away, at the perfect opposite. It wasn’t much of a question, more like sheer surprise.

“Woke up an hour ago and couldn’t sleep, so I thought it’d be nice to watch the sunset at least.”

He didn’t say anything and just entered, not closing the door behind him, and walked in silence to where I was perched. From here, I was a little taller than him, and it felt incredibly pleasant for a second.

Then he hesitated, and sat on the other side of the bookshelf, not bothering asking if I wanted him there.

“Cream cheese?” Eren handed me the small bowl in his left hand, which I hadn’t seen.

“No.” Then I looked at it again. “Actually yes.”

“Was it you?” When I looked at him, spoon in my mouth, not really getting what he was talking about, he went on. “The covers, I mean.”

I nodded.

“Thought it might be Jean.”

“Jean wouldn’t do that. Jean would open the windows.”

Eren’s smile began as a small curved line, and ended up so wide I could see his teeth.

“Yeah, he probably would. Kind of panicked where I woke up, though.”

“Why?” I asked as I took another spoon.

“‘Cause you weren’t there. I mean last time I saw you, we were sprawled on the couch together. There was no sound coming from the kitchen and no music coming from upstairs, so I kind of freaked out. Just a second or two.”

 _Oh_.

“Sorry, I was just there.”

“Yeah.” He looked outside and I did the same.

That was fucking disappointing, because the sky looked pretty depressed. It was gray, gray in every way. No clouds. No sun. Just gray everywhere. It’s nice to look at that, but not when you’re sitting there, expecting a cute sunset to lighten your quiet mood and lift you up.

It’s no big deal, though. The sun will rise again tomorrow.

We stayed there a few minutes, sharing the bowl spoonful after spoonful.

“You gonna see Hitch again?”

“Probably,” I said, and that was the first time I was serious about it.

“Why?” I looked up and he rushed. “I mean that’s really cool that you’ve finally changed your mind and all. But why now? Is it because of yesterday?” I didn’t answer, just took the time I needed to swallow this fucking cheap cream cheese, so he talked with himself. “What the hell did you two talk about, huh? I didn’t know your flirting skills were this effective, although she might be the one to congratulate for that one, because after all, you fucking _changed_ your _mind_.”

He said that like it was an impossible thing for me to change my mind. Not completely wrong, but not quite right either.

Just smiled.

“I think I like her.” I gave him the empty bowl and he took it instinctively, without noticing. “She’s not what she gives the impression to be. I guess.”

“You need condoms?” Eren said, seriously, because he knew it would irritate me.

“Fuck off. Idiot. I’m gonna do that shit with her. With anyone. Relationships suck anyway.” He laughed, slightly rocked backwards, then stilled. “I bet you don’t even have any.”

I smiled because his laughter died in a second, and the face he did was priceless. I was fucking right about this one.

“Shut up, I’m waiting for the good occasion to buy some.”

“Don’t bother, dude, it won’t happen.”

I was teasing, he knew that. After all we were both goddamn virgins, right?

He snorted, slid off the bookshelf and his foot landed on a pencil I had forgotten on the ground. He shrieked and almost lost his balance, the bowl still in his hand, but it’s cheap plastic—doesn’t risk anything.

“Fuck!” he shouted, and repeated it like, ten times at least.

Checked outside, and the sky was still dark gray, probably waiting for me to go away to get clearer.

“Hey,” Eren called me out, and I turned towards him. “Come see me at work today.”

His hand lingered on the doorframe and I agreed.

“Sure.”

Eren went to werk around 10 saying he had nothing better to do and that Nanaba needed his help anyway. He didn’t shower because he had the day before, and didn’t bother putting clean clothes on either. But if he went to work this early, I think that’s because he didn’t know when his dad’s car would arrive, and somehow, he probably wanted to be there when it would happen.

Not that it had a crucial importance, it’s just that it’s family stuff, right? You would rather take care of that than letting someone else do it at your place. And even if he hadn’t said anything, I knew he felt quite guilty for the things he had said last night.

Jean was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, scrolling something on his old laptop, while I was trying to work, and by trying, I mean really not putting effort into this.

It probably was 1 pm and we didn’t have anything to eat (more like to cook, but laziness is a rule in this house), and I could cry at how close I was to give up on my work.

“I’m cold,” Jean said, and I was about to ask if he wanted me to turn the heaters on before remembering they didn’t work anymore. Heh.

He clicked on his laptop’s mousepad and played a music I didn’t know. I looked at my philosophy book, tried to read a sentence or two, but the sound coming from the other side of the table was too distracting for me to concentrate—because trying to concentrate without motivation is literally like putting a pizza in an oven switched off and being frustrated afterwards because it’s not cooking.

“What’s this? Sounds like _Elvis Presley_.”

“That’s…” he lowered his head to get closer to the screen, and searched for the name of the song. “That’s _Chuck Berry_.”

I liked old industrial and alternative shit, Eren liked the good ol’ rap, as for Jean, he could listen to anything. But I liked it.

Another click, then a second one, and I caught a frown from above his laptop.

“Hey, isn’t it, like—Connie’s toilets?” he said, and the question was so random and intriguing that I had to get up and stand next to him to check what it was about.

“Well, yes…”

He lowered the volume so that we wouldn’t have to speak louder, and then clicked on the photo he was talking about.

“Look. That’s a fucking selfie. Connie’s taking selfies on his toilets, oh my g—“

“What?” But Jean was right, this was a profile picture he had just posted four minutes ago on Facebook, and believe it or not, he most likely was shitting while taking it. “Why would he do that?”

Somehow I felt frustrated, but I also understood. I mean, you’re taking a more or less difficult shit, it’s a precise work, you have to concentrate and produce a physical effort, and you end up more bored than ever. Why not take your phone with you and play some games? At this point, taking a selfie is really not that weird.

Maybe I was used to the idea because Eren would do that all the time. Like, I don’t know, playing fucking _Candy Crush_ while emptying his bladder.

Jean snorted, I went back to my spot and he kept scrolling.

“He’s a nerd,” he sighed. Guess we were lucky to have them next to us, though, because it meant both private parties every week and loud music tolerated.

“Had fun yesterday?”

 _Click_. _Click_.

“Yeaaah.” He’d look up, eventually, like he somehow remembered I was there. “Reiner brought food and there was like, Annie too. That was nice.”

“Did you stay outside the whole thing?” I frowned, because Jean would usually be the first to complain about the temperature.

“Nah, we stayed outside for like, two hours maybe, three maximum. Annie wanted to stay but we all got inside so she ended up following. Sasha almost created general panic when she accidentally dropped a candle.”

He laughed at the memory and I vaguely wished I would have been there to witness that.

Jean’s a cool guy. Jean likes sports, Jean likes girls, Jean’s the most banal guy I’ve ever seen, yet he’s also the most annoying asshole I’ve ever met. And that’s cool.

We’re all cool.

We sat there, hoping we wouldn’t be hungry anymore if we were really into it, but ended up calling the pizza guy. Surprisingly enough, we didn’t eat that much, and put the two boxes in the oven for later.

There’s nothing like cold pizza, right.

As promised, though, I put some shoes on and went outside. I had to ask Jean about twenty times before he’d give up and drive me there, and that meant he wouldn’t do the same effort by coming back to pick me up. Guess I’ll have to walk, then.

Nanaba’s place was like a Northern garage, a mix between a breaker’s yard with trash and dust, and a standard repair shop. A few cars were parked in the large alley, others placed everywhere in the junkyard, and I guess that’s a pretty cool place to go for bored teenagers.

Broken cars were forming some sort of track, and the free space would allow car racing and test drives. The sky was still gray, no cloud, no sun, absolutely nothing in sight, and the nature looked dead.

Just wind.

No sound, except maybe the ones coming from the inside of the garage, of which the two front doors were lifted to let the cars enter, and that’s how I spotted Eren, ass high in the air while his upper body was stuck in the inside of a green car.

I sat on the hood of another broken cars as he fixed this one, a Chevrolet coming straight out of the 80’s, and I suggested to paint over it to give it a second chance. He stopped, looked at the car and shrugged before going back to his thing, and I watched patiently like a kid at his parents’ job.

He took a break around thirty minutes later and by the time we’d actually leave the garage, it was already late enough for everything to get darker. Eren washed his hands, his face and his hair, and we walked through the quarry until he’d go a little faster and jump on the back of a car with no glass and doors.

Took it as a cue and threw my back on the hood before climbing the ruins and sitting on the edge of the roof, right next to Eren. It wasn’t that high to be honest, because it was an old car with as less space as it was needed, the kind of car you’re not really asking for you birthday. Like Mikasa’s car, actually. But Mikasa could look badass driving this pile of shit and that would make the difference.

“Is that what you wanted?” I asked, and when Eren frowned, I explained myself. “I mean, working with cars. Working here. Doing this shit all day, and getting all stinking and filthy. Not that you’re usually clean, though…”

“Shut up,” he said and slowly shook his head with a smile. If I wasn’t there to remind him how disgusting he could be, then no one would. Some just have missions in life. “But yeah, sure. That’s even cooler than what I thought, and Nanaba’s really chill. I can drive the cars people leave here, the only condition is that I fix them myself. I find what I need, get it done, and then I can use them whenever I want. They’re not to anyone anymore so like, why not, right?”

Yeah, why not. I didn’t know how to drive, but hearing Eren talk about his cars kinda gave me the feeling. I thought about asking him to teach me, but then hesitated, and ended up not saying shit. It just wasn’t the right moment, not the right day. I’d wait.

“You can take them with you?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, I can do literally everything I want with it. Once it’s at the junkyard, it’s Nanaba’s property, and she really doesn’t want to have anything to do with these ruins.”

“So, you’re driving us home I assume.”

Eren just smiled and I took it as a yes. One of the only things Eren likes to do, aside from not doing anything and saying that he doesn’t like to do anything, it’s driving.

Never thought I’d say that, but Eren drives better than Mikasa anyway. Which is the pure, fucking irony because she’s got a driving license and he doesn’t.

Well.

“I talked with a guy earlier today.”

“Hm.”

He had someting in his hands, which I recognized as an empty can he had been bringing with him, and looked more thoughtful than usual. And like the kid he really was, he was swinging his feet in the void.

“He said they organize daily, or at least weekly races here. Nanaba gave the permission as long as they don’t come around the garage or the cars she has to fix, so everytime they come here and race.”

I knew there were races at Nanaba’s place, and the way the fucked up cars would shape a giant track made it kind of obvious. But there was this tone, also, he was using, and I felt like I already knew what he was about to say.

“He told me they’d accept anyone who’s legal and pays the 10 dollars of entrance. The races are public and the winner can win cars or… money. You know.”

“Cut the bullshit, Eren, are you gonna do this or?”

Eren stayed silent like he was still weighing his decision, but finally he turned his head towards me, and I got distracted by his thumbs playing with the empty can as he looked at me with dead serious, sleep-deprived eyes.

“Yeah, there’s a chance.”

“Hell you don’t even have a license.”

“I used to, I just lost it.”

“Yeah, by driving like a fucktard. You’re not Mikasa’s brother for nothing, right.”

Silence.

There was silence everywhere and I felt weird, like I didn’t know if I had the right to bitch about what Eren wanted to do or even the right to say anything about his choices. Because that’s what it is. His choices.

If Eren wants to take a shit, then I’m not gonna stand in front of the toilets to keep him from entering. I’m not gonna keep him awake if the idiot wants to sleep, and I’m sure as hell not gonna steal his porn when he feels like watching it—that’s a code anyway, no one steals anyone’s porn. It’s more or less ethically incorrect. No one talks about that, but everyone acknowledges it as a fact, so.

But here’s the point. Eren is a big boy, and I can’t keep him from making the bad decisions because I am, too, the idiot making the bad decisions. Not necessarily the same ones, but still, I lay in my bed at night and wonder why the fuck did I do these things, whether it’s going to college or letting my hair grow.

So I thought about it as the silence lingered, almost peaceful with the scrap iron sounds echoing in the distance, and came to the conclusion that Eren didn’t need my say-so to fuck things up.

“They don’t ask for a license, you just need to know how to drive. This shit is not exactly legal anyway, so they’re not gonna bitch about legal details, it would be the most ironic thing, right?” He paused, looked at me again, but since I was still staring at his long fingers, covered with oil stains and filth, he lowered his gaze as well. “The guy told me their next race is like, in two days. I get 500$ if I win.”

That could pay the bills. Actually, that could pay so much. Not necessarily entirely—but it could help. Somehow I felt guilty, not really knowing if Eren only wanted to do that for self-confidence and the love he had for cars, or if he also wanted to help.

This shit could quickly get dangerous, and god knows an accident is the most common thing in street racing. It’s at Nanaba’s junkyard, and if Eren had to race in a way or another, she’d keep an eye on him just in case things turned badly; but it doesn’t help accidents from happening.

The worry I felt was eating me yet I couldn’t help feeling a bit relieved that Eren would have something to hold onto. A job, a new friend in Nanaba, and car races.

“Do you have something to drive with?”

“What, like, a car? Of course. I’m working on one right now.” He knew I was about to ask if it was the pathetic car I had seen previously, and smiled. “No, not this one. It’s a white and blue 80s Mustang. The thing didn’t have wheels and a brake system. As for the engine, it was destroyed, like fucking destroyed. It’s a shame someone put it there and didn’t make the effort to fix it themselves.”

“So technically it’ll be your car?”

“Technically, yes. I don’t have legal papers or shit but I’m not even sure this town has cops so like, why all this concern?”

He shook the can just to make sure it was really empty and then threw it away, before lying down on his back. You’d be surprised to see how comfortable it can be.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“What’s this fucking question, Eren.”

“No, really, though. You’re like… off, these days. You don’t talk much, I mean, less than usual. You’re here but you don’t really give a shit.”

“My silence speaks for myself.”

“So what, the same shit is going on and you’re not going to do anything about it?”

“Says the guy who constantly complains about not having a girlfriend but doesn’t say a thing when there’s a girl around.”

“Fair enough. But really. Your parents, did they call today?”

“Nope. Wasn’t counting on that anyway, because I’m gonna ignore them for a while.”

“Why?” I wasn’t looking, but I could feel his frown in this word only.

“Because they’ve got so much to do and I’m just there, doing the same things everyday. I’m thinking about dropping college and each time I want to talk about it, it’s like, I remember how proud they were to know I was going there after high school. They knew I was smart but they were expecting me to do something else because I didn’t give a single fuck, and I still don’t, and I’m sure they know it. Everyone knows it.”

“Yeah, so what? They’re not going to cry because you made a personal choice, it’s your life, right? They love you anyway, it’s not like they were going to beat the shit out of you for being a pretentious dickhead. I mean really look at you, even when you act like a loser you’re still the coolest motherfucker in town. They don’t need a college degree to remind them that.”

Eren was staring at the sky, lifeless and tranquil, and I felt like he had made an effort by saying what he had just said. Eren usually doesn’t talk like that, well, not to anybody. Mikasa, maybe. But Mikasa and him have the weirdest relationship ever, I mean they can shit in the same room at the same time and still talk about how delicious an extra cheese pizza sounds.

I was the closest thing to a friend and it was that way since high school. He didn’t care that I was younger, and I didn’t care that he didn’t care about much either. It was cool that way, we were made for this. We’d often serious conversations about, parents, money, jobs, because we didn’t have a choice, we just couldn’t ignore that.

But conversations about self-loving and how we feel about each other, not so much. I wouldn’t say it was the first time Eren called me the coolest motherfucker, but this was one of these rare things that happen so rarely it kind of makes you blissful when it does.

Repeating things too much make them lose their meaning. Eren saying I’m worth it still is the most enjoyable and precious things ever.

It’s not like anyone saying it, because to be perfectly honest I don’t care about what other people think, I mean outside the friend/family area. I care about Eren, Mikasa, my parents, Pops and even Jean at some extent. The whole squad, you know. Connie, Sasha, Annie…

But when someone you care about tells you something this fucking honest, it just takes your breath away and you feel like you don’t even know yourself anymore. You’re just living in this body and this person, whoever it is, knows yourself so much better than you do on some parts. It can quickly get scary but, Eren isn’t.

Annoying, and proud, he is. But I’ve never felt so safe than when I’m with him, knowing that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

If I’m going to waste my days then it might as well be with him, right.

“I hope you’ll, you know, win this race.”

“Yeah,” he said after some time. “Me too.”

I lied down in my turn and we stayed like that for a few minutes. Eren could go home whenever he wanted as long as he’d reach the total of hours he was supposed to make in a week, and as long as he’d come when Nanaba needed him.

So we went home before it’d get dark and took the cold pizzas out of the oven. Eren’s car was in the alley, Jean’s wasn’t, and I knew Eren wanted to brag about it. So he opened the kitchen window, took the plastic gun we kept above the fridge (which had no particular utility by the way) and sent a marble at their own kitchen window.

Sasha opened it soon after and since Connie wasn’t home, she came with us and we ate in front of the TV. Sasha brought fresh beers, Eren felt happier than usual, and when Jean and Connie arrived and crashed on the couch and armchairs, the last rays of sunlight piercing through the blinds, it felt good.

It felt good like old memories of hot summer holidays, it felt good like the peace that lasts a few minutes after you just come down from an extremely satisfying orgasm. It felt good and everyone laughed, and shoulders got pushed, and beer got splashed, and hands flew everywhere, and at the end of it all, no one cared about the lousy show on the TV.

This is not a family, and hell, we’d be a pretty fucked up one, right? But it was so close to it. So close to this place you go back to at the end of the day, somehow convinced somehow’s waiting for you. And even if you end up being alone, you know they’ll come back for you.

The sunrays made the whole room orange, that kind of summer-like orange that’s quiet and calming. It’s nice to look at.

My name was shouted, screamed and laughed, and I felt more lively just like that. Don’t you just love when someone calls you out in front of other people? It’s just. There is no equivalent. You’re just kind of here but you’re not just watching, you’re there with them and your heart beats.

Jean got out a few hours later, saying he had to meet Marco somewhere, and the rest of us stayed downstairs, and moved to the kitchen to eat pickles around the island.

But then I thought about something, and Eren caught my gaze. He was about to ask what was on my mind when I said I needed to piss, and just stood in front of the mirror for two solid minutes, wondering if that was okay to do what I was about to do.

My skin was so fucking pale I looked sick. I stared at my reflection and cringed, thinking that it was exactly what everybody would see when looking at me. And what a fucking thing to look at.

I’m still a kid, you know. Not matter how tall I get, no matter I tough I become, I’m still this very same kid sitting on a bench in high school, waiting for the fucking day to come to an end because people are toxic and I hated everything.

I’m still this kid and nothing has changed that much. My hair’s still blonde, kinda wavy, too short to reach my shoulders but too long to just look like the average boyish haircut—as for my face, I looked like I was recovering a very deadly disease.

I had quite hollow cheeks and thin eyebrows, well, thinner than Eren’s anyway. No matter what shirt I’d wear, I’d still float inside. Picking oversized clothes didn’t help either.

I sighed and rubbed my face with my palms. I looked tired and young and sad. That’s almost too much. So I just stood there, looked at the mirror and wondered what Hitch was seeing.

Asking the question didn’t change much, because I ended up leaving the house without warning and walking in the night, hands in my pockets, dragging my old shoes in the ground and staring at my feet the whole thing, wondering if I really wanted to do this.

I stopped in front of Kelly’s and recognized Mikasa’s silhouette moving fast around the tables and stools, and I searched for Hitch’s. It’s only when I started to think she wasn’t there that I spotted here behind the counter, hands moving in the air as quickly as it was humanly possible. The whole diner was full and they probably didn’t need me to slow them down, but I got in anyway.

Mikasa looked at me, and her face lightened a little. She waved a hand before turning around towards someone, and I sat at the counter, fully aware—too much aware that Hitch would recognize me in less than a second.

Lost, depressed teenagers didn’t come to this place. I didn’t fit and I was too obvious.

I felt Hitch approaching slowly, like she also knew what I was doing here, and I didn’t need to look at her to see she was smiling. I could see it from the way her hands would move on the counter, nervous and lively.

“So,” she said. “Are you finally going to ask me out?”

I looked up and caught her eyes, and it felt weirdly pleasing. Kind of flattering too, because her smile had nothing to do with Mikasa’s, or Sasha’s, or whatever. She didn’t want me to be a friend, she wanted me to ask her out and be the fucking romance dream she was waiting for.

I wasn’t a romantic, I was a realist—but the more I’d think about it, the more Hitch almost sounded like a good idea.

Her old green Converses weren’t laced and it looked pretty unusual with her yellow uniform dress, but I smiled, because Hitch had this kind of thing you love or hate.

I wasn’t sure romance was a wise decision, but she couldn’t be that bad. That kind of chicks likes to live one day at a time, and maybe she could bring something good.

She crossed her arms on her chest and I knew it was too late to back off.

“Let’s get out of here.”


	4. the one with the bath and the crappy job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa is a cool chick and Armin doesn't care anymore. Also note that only the best friends share both baths and .avi porn material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll edit the former chapters because I decided Roco would be set in 2007's poor Chicago's neighbourhoods.
> 
> Mikasa is gonna be so cool starting from now. I mean, cooler than she already was. Also Eren racing and the music festival. More Hitch. More shit.
> 
> Tomorrow night I'm gonna get drunk and high and posting feels oddly amazing. [damnhoppus](http://damnhoppus.tumblr.com) on tumblr. 
> 
> The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

 

“It's not a date, you know.”

“Oh, really?” She had this fake tone of surprise, like I was trying to convince both of us and majestically failed.

“Yeah. We’re just two responsible adults spending time together.” 

Hitch stayed silent after this, not because she was offended, but because she either didn’t believe me or didn’t give a damn. I’d go for the first option. And the second one too. Because, you know. It’s Hitch.

We were walking on the bridge separating our small town in two small parts, this bridge I used to go to with Eren back in high school. I was always afraid he’d jump, not because he wanted to die, but because he seemed like he didn’t know death was a thing. And to be honest, I’m still not sure he has any idea of what it means.

It was around midnight, there was no one, just silent cars disappearing in the distance, vaguely lightened by the streetlights at the end of the bridge. Here, there was nothing, no bright moon, no light above us—we were only guided by the front beams of the cars passing us by. 

The wind was blowing against us and from time to time, Hitch would tug a blonde strand behind her ear. And I’d watch, quietly.

“I don’t have a car.” 

Her eyes turned in my direction and I expected her to say something. But for a moment, she stayed silent.

“Why does it matter here and now?”

“I can’t drive you home.”

“Good thing I have two feet, then.”

And she smiled.

I didn’t, but I felt light inside. Hitch had nothing in common with Eren, who’d always try to escape reality in a way or another; he had plenty. Hitch accepted the reality for what it was and she somehow managed to make me feel like I’d survive all of this. I mean, this life, this small town, these judgmental people, this boring work, boring habits, loneliness, everything. 

Two words, and life almost looked simple and sweet. Maybe it was because of her voice, or the colors she was wearing, or the constant curved line on her lips that’d never go away. 

But the usual void at this time of the night felt more bearable.

“It’s nice, here.”

She stopped and put her elbows on the stone, and I walked next to her. We were in the middle of the bridge, right above the water, right under the endless sky. The palette of colors wasn’t really big, it would go from complete black to shy dark blue, or the strange greenish bright blue of the streetlights, and a very dark green for all the plants. The water was so dark it looked dark, but everything was reflected, the moon, and the depth of it wasn’t scary.

“I used to come here so often,” I said, because I felt like I had to tell her. It wasn’t important, but I knew she’d like to know.

“What happened?”

I took some time to answer. That’s one question I had never asked myself.

“I don’t know.” A pause. A long one. “I don’t know. We grew up.” 

I knew this was bullshit, because none of us had really become a grown up. Here, we were all stuck in this teenage phase, the one during which you feel like going out is the only way to be alive, or like relationships were really a big deal.

It had kind of started to change, though, and we couldn’t see it. Connie and Sasha are living together, it’s been that way for a few years already, I think it began right after high school. They had plans.

I didn’t.

“If time is your excuse then I don’t think it’s valid enough.” She sounded serious and careless at the same time, and I looked at her as she leaned over a little, to look under the guardrail. I thought she’d fall, and expected the worse for a second, but she simply straightened up and bounced on her feet like there was nothing to risk. “I’ve always wondered how the hell these guys can tag such places. I mean how did they do? There’s like four meters from here to the surface of the water, and that’s just the surface.”

She frowned like it was a really important, urgent matter, and I laughed softly. My body was freezing, but I didn’t crave heat that much, because being outside felt oddly good.

“I guess art is a life or death experience.”

“Yeah,” she replied thoughtfully, and gazed at the stars. I realized how much she was leaning forward when I caught a glimpse of the skin of the back of her thigh, and quickly looked away like some guilty shit. Girls. “I used to be good at this thing before. Drawing, painting, I’d touch pretty much every artistic field, as long as there is something to hold and something to welcome the art. That’s pretty funny, but until sixteen years old, I was so sure I’d move somewhere bigger and live from my art.”

“So what did hold you back? Most of us left after graduation. For something better, something… bigger. Some didn’t have plans, they just thought like it couldn’t be worse than here. So what about you?”

“Maybe, but don’t forget the most important: most of them will come back. You can’t wander around for years if you don’t have anything to hold onto. That’s partly why I stayed, I guess. I have my family, here… here are my roots and the places I’ve been to, and the town I grew up in. That sounds easy, but I can assure you it’s pretty damn hard to go away just like that.”

“Did you… try?”

Silence.

“I did.” She paused, like a quick hesitation, before lifting her chin and sighing. “Many times, actually.”

I looked at the distant lights above the water, and wondered where this would lead to. Another city? Was there something for us, there? Probably not. There is nothing for people like us. We complain about not having a job when we don’t even go to college, and if we do, then, we quit. We quit and we lose our jobs. We become college dropouts. We end up working at Kelly’s with a short yellow dress as uniform and certainly not the life we’d dreamed of.

As much as there is no rich without poor, there is no happiness without lost souls like us to make the balance.

We had talked enough for me to know who Hitch was. Hitch liked her bread toasted, she liked horror movies and monotone literature, and maybe that’s why she wasn’t sad anymore. She had read so many tragedies, she had read so many deaths and pains and loneliness, that there wasn’t enough space for hers left. Hitch liked beaches and places like here, where it seemed like lifting an open hand towards the sky or the horizon would be enough to escape, to disappear. Hitch liked intense laughter sessions and the transition between autumn and winter. And now I could add something to the list: Hitch was an optimistic, the girl who dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer and broke her legs along the way.

I was a coward for that very same reason. While Hitch knew she had made the right choice in staying here with the people she loved and the places that had seen her grow, I was stuck at the first base, wondering what would have been my life with a few “what ifs” and a big imagination.

“One time I packed everything up, and threw it all in the car. It was the middle of the night, I remember exactly what happened this night. I was nineteen, late nineteen, and I was catching up with the idea of finding better somewhere that wasn’t here. I didn’t tell my parents anything and started the car. I was panicked, but… it was worth it. Until the last billboard of the town, I guess. Because that’s where I stopped the car and cried for ten solid minutes before going back home. I left my stuff in the car and simply went upstairs, and I fell asleep in my bed like I had never been away.”

Leaving. That’s one thing I could never have done. I didn’t have much here, but I had enough. I had Mikasa, and Eren, and my grandfather. I had habits, a perfect knowledge of the quiet parts of the town, and meeting my former philosophy teacher at the grocery store would fill an entire bowl of self-esteem, enough for a whole week. Then it’d be empty again and I would close my eyes and try to remember how important I felt when I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—when bills didn’t have to be paid and people were just an option.

Maybe it just sucks because we all realize it way too late. 

 

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

 

 

 

 

I woke up in absolute darkness, and realized I had to get used to it to see anything. Straightened up like a dead man coming out of his grave, and threw my legs out of the bed before it’d meet the cold ground, and god knows that wasn’t the ground of my bedroom.

For a second, I mentally panicked, mentally only because my body couldn’t keep up. But then I looked around with half-closed eyes and recognized Sasha’s room, with her purple walls, her tiles on the ground, and black sheets of her bed. 

Second panic session, and turned around faster than it would have been advised, only to check if Sasha wasn’t naked and asleep next to me, because I swear to fucking god, it would have been the worst thing ever. Not that Sasha’s not attractive, but she’s a friend, and overall, she’s not my girl. No matter how much of an asshole you are, the dude code is made of three rules: one, don’t ever fuck with your friend’s girl, two, respect one’s beer, and three, don’t ever fuck with your friend’s girl. 

But, no, the sheets were empty and cold, and I was alone. 

The headache was too strong to compete. I could feel my insides burning second after second, as my head threatened to explode, and I wondered what color would have my blood on the dark sheets. Guess that’s the low side of hangovers, because that’s totally what I had.

I looked at the small nightstand and two seconds were enough to see what was on it. Two empty beer bottles, one still half full, a tiny box of meds, an old pink glass of water, a cream to remove make-up, q-tips, an empty cup, another empty glass, and an empty pack of spicy chips. What the fuck happened here?

Decided to be wise and took a pill to throw it in the glass of water, and quietly stared at it as it dissolved, wondering since when this glass had been here. Knowing that Sasha and Connie had the same lifestyle as we, it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise to learn it was there since an entire week, and closed my eyes as I gave up on being hygienic.

The silence was so plain it almost sounded scary, at least until I spotted Jean sleeping on Connie’s couch, one arm hanging on the void. I didn’t wake him up, and neither had Sasha, because she was sitting in the kitchen with a green bowl in her hands. She was about to take a sip when she saw me, too.

“Where are the others?” 

At my surprise, she simply shrugged and kept drinking her milk—or whatever it was. She looked tired and irritated, like last night had been both mentally and physically exciting, so much that there’s no energy left. Kinda felt like that, too, with the difference that I was much more interested in collecting last night’s memories than sitting down complaining about it.

“You didn’t see them?”

Second shrug. I hesitated between staying there, going back to our house, or sitting next to her to eat something, and after a few seconds, settled for the last choice. I was hungry anyway. The hungover kind of hungry. You know, when your body feels gross and you can’t quite remember if you threw up or not, but somehow it feels like you’re about to anyways. There are two types of drunk people: those who eat, and those who don’t.

I’m one of the first kind. And apparently, Sasha too.

In silence, I reached out to grab the bottle of orange juice, and thought about something I had heard somewhere some time ago, about how long alcohol stays in your system before disappearing completely. I think it’s about 24 hours, right? Well, I was too tired and lazy to engage a conversation with Sasha and she didn’t look like she wanted to contribute either, so we stayed quiet and I kept thinking about that, wondering how many hours would be enough for my body to be clean again.

At that one thought, I looked down and held back a sigh just at the barrier of my lips. I felt so, so gross. Entirely. I was filthy, I stinked, and my eyes were so tired I could have cried with a few blinks. I couldn’t remember what I had been wearing the day before, but the shirt I was wearing this morning was definitely enduring a third, fourth, may I say even fifth day. Had another thought for my parents, and how I used to be so clean when I was living with them, and tried to remember what a clean life looks like. Must be cool, must be… easier. Or maybe it’s the contrary, maybe being clean is a lot of efforts and being as I am is actually a good way to save energy and time. And I’m pretty sure it is.

It was cold, and I was only wearing black boxers, and didn’t think too much about who they belonged to. Maybe it was me, after all. 

I took the last sip of the bottle, and felt Sasha’s gaze lingering a little, like she was watching me, about to tell me to fuck off for a) drinking right from the bottle and b) finishing it on the way. But she didn’t say shit, and after some time, she looked away. 

In this tiny moment of loneliness, I prayed that Connie would be there, or Jean, and then I remembered Eren, and couldn’t think of any moment spent with him during the night. Not a thing. It was like…he had never existed.

“Where’s Eren?”

This time, she gave up with the shrugs and maybe it was because she was starting to get over her morning mood, but she answered anyways.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since waking up.”

“And how long have you been awake?” 

“I don’t know,” she repeated, “twenty minutes maybe.”

That means Eren could have been the first to wake up and the first to go home, or maybe he was somewhere with Connie, buying shit for breakfast, or walking to forget how drunk they were, who knows. I had this incredibly tiny second of worry, and then, as always, it disappeared.

“Where did you sleep?” I asked, because the question had been on my mind for too long. Kinda imagined what my relationship with Connie would turn into if I had slept with his girlfriend, in a way or another.

“I slept with Connie in the guest’s room. He’s still sleeping.”

Yeah, because they had three rooms. Sasha’s, Connie’s, and one they never used because we lived a few meters away from them and, except in case of bad drinking like last night, didn’t need a room to sleep in. I guess we were really wasted if ten meters was too much. Sasha would usually drink in Connie’s room because his bed was bigger anyway, and the fact that they didn’t have one room for the both of them was only a material matter. 

That somehow meant Eren probably slept in their bed, with or without their permission, and that would be why they ended up sleeping in the guest room. In any way, Connie was still here, which also meant that he wasn’t outside with Eren, and I could hardly picture Eren walking alone out there without a friend to complain to. 

I had a feeling he’d be home, so I nodded, put the bottle in the trash, and left the house. I was still in boxers, and the shirt I was wearing had a strange stain on the front, but it was way too early for eventual neighbors to witness anything. I didn’t have a watch, thus I couldn’t see the hour, but one look at the sky was enough to be sure it was way before the reasonable hour for a Sunday morning.

I walked on the sidewalk, walked past Connie and Sasha’s mailbox, then ours, and turned to take up the alley. Walked the tiny stairs, pushed the door, and there was no sound. It was so peaceful I almost shivered.

Since Eren could be anywhere and Jean was proven not to be here, I checked all the rooms, without a fear of finding Jean jacking off in the bathroom—for Eren, however, it was different. He’d be one to take advantage of being alone in the house, but I’m not sure he’d have the energy to do anything with his junk right after a bad, bad hungover, which I was sure he had, because Eren would never neglect a drinking night. You drink, or you don’t—but you can’t do it halfway. 

You get real drunk, or you don’t at all. That’s it, that’s the deal for Eren, and since it sure as hell wasn’t our first, I knew from experience he most likely was dying on his bed, pleading God to take him now. Bad headache, ugly mood, nausea and twisted facial features, nothing better than waking up after such a fucking alcohol nightmare.

I couldn’t remember what had happened last night, but didn’t freak out too much, because I felt like we had fun. Somehow counted on Eren to talk about it, and pushed every door, expecting that he’d be behind one of them. He wasn’t.

I tried mine, but it was empty, lifeless, it felt dead, more than usual at least. Then I sighed, starting to think he wasn’t there at all, and pushed the bathroom’s door, only to still in the doorframe as Eren lifted his surprised face towards me. He wasn’t sitting on the toilets, taking the most amazing shit of his life; he was sitting in the bathtub, knees up against his chest, and he was wearing his underwear. The water looked warm and Eren looked like it was enjoyable, and I didn’t think too much before closing the door and taking a step closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a bath. Isn’t it obvious?” he frowned, but he didn’t seem in a bad mood, so I dared going further and removing my shirt as he watched, puzzled. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Taking a bath,” I replied, and I could almost hear his quiet fair enough as he turned his head away from me and wrapped his arms around his bare knees.

The water was warmer than I expected it to be, and it felt great. I put a feet in the bathtub, then another one, and slowly sat down at the opposite side. And for a moment, we just stayed there, in front of each other, not really looking, not really talking, just…existing.

And then, we both felt curious and talked at the same time.

“You first,” he said, and I nodded silently.

“So, hm. I can’t really remember what happened last night.”

“Last night?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. More like a vague souvenir, which became something more intense as he squinted a bit to recall the details. “Well, last night. Last night I threw up the shit out of me. And Connie, too. Jean, Sasha and you apparently were luckier than us, but you don’t look so good either.”

He said that with a light tone of worry, and I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze—but he almost instantly looked away.

“Jean dove in the pool and I wouldn’t be surprised the asshole got sick. He’ll catch pneumonia. And if I remember right, you tried to get him out of here and fell in the pool as well. It was fucking late, something like…I don’t know, 4 am maybe. It’s been 2 hours only.”

I nodded, silently thanking him for the information, and wrote down the hour. So it was 6 am, right? And I had fallen in the pool for Jean? What a fucking waste. Not that Jean’s not worth it, but he would have been sick anyway. Jean doesn’t need a pool to be sick. Jean is a fucking bacteria alien. I assumed I had only slept these two hours and suddenly, my eyelids felt heavier.

“It’s gay, you know,” I heard Eren say before opening my eyes again. He just had to break this peaceful moment, right?

“It’s not gay if we’re not naked.”

He made the tiniest nod, like he knew I was right but was too proud to admit it. It wasn’t gay at all, probably because we had done this so many times before. But Eren’s an asshole, and he just wanted to complain.

“You didn’t tell me what happened with Hitch.”

“I didn’t?” I sounded surprised, and I really was. Eren and I had no secret for each other, and alcohol involved was the guarantee that I’d talk anyway, which obviously hadn’t happened.

“Nope.” He paused, and frowned shortly after that, like I was the purest idiot he had ever seen. “Come on, what are you waiting for? The next heatwave?”

“Alright, chill,” I said, and I felt a really light, almost imaginary rush of irritation, but by the time I’d try to find the words, it was gone, and everything was gone but Eren’s eyes locked in mine, lost somewhere between sheer curiosity and vague impatience. “I don’t know we just walked to the bridge we used to go to, you know—“

“—the one at the edge of the town?” 

Silence.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything and I wondered if it was okay to go on. I did, eventually.

“So yeah, we went there. We walked for a long time and talked, yeah we talked a lot, that was…surprisingly cool.”

Eren looked like he was trying to see through me, and for a second, I wanted to look away.

“You’re lying, right?”

“No, I swear, she’s not that bad. She’s pretty clever actually. She’s just a fuck up kid like us, difference is she’s just living differently. Everybody’s got their bullshit, I guess.”

“Did you kiss?”

“No.”

“Not even the fucking first base? Come on, Armin, I thought you were better than that.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

He laughed so suddenly I almost jumped, and the water at the level of our torsos trembled a little. It felt great—the warm water, combined with Eren’s laughter, and everything almost looked pleasurable. For a second, I wasn’t sick anymore, and my body was clean from all this alcohol. But then it faded away as quickly as it appeared and I was sick again.

But at least, Eren was smiling.

Eren was such an awkward guy. He wasn’t ugly, he wasn’t that much handsome either, but he definitely wasn’t ugly. Eren had no manners, and obeyed to the most simple, easy and enjoyable things and rules, like the famous “can’t reach it, don’t need it” rule, which made him so hungry, pissed and god knows what else. Eren’s cute, but he’s stupid. Not stupid like failing school and shit, although I doubt Eren was into this stuff. But he couldn’t make wise decisions, because he was still a kid, and I couldn’t blame him—we all were. He’d prefer the short, intense adventure to the quiet and safe life of a random dude sitting on his couch, which was weird because he was both.

That’s it. That’s what Eren is. He’s the underdog but he takes no shit. He’s the one left behind but he follows anyway. He’s the most perfect enbodiment of the word contradiction, and if that isn’t enough to understand that he’s a fucking mess, then I can’t do shit for you.

“What about you?” I finally said, both because I wanted to hear his answer and fill the blanks—not that it bothered me though.

“Me? You mean, the girlfriend matter? Ahh…” He made a weird grin, like he didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew he did. And indeed, he did. “OK, this is fucking stupid, how could I handle a girlfriend, tell me.”

“You pushed me into going out with Hitch. You told me to make an effort but you’re still the same little shit even under those thick layers of crappy advices.”

“What do you mean?” And there, his innocent voice. The one he uses when he knows I’m just about to prove him wrong, but decides it’s not worth the fight.

“I mean that it’s hypocrite as hell. You want me to get a girlfriend but on the contrary, you don’t want to get one, because it’s too much of an effort. Like, hey, dude, why do you complain so much about being alone if you end up wanting to stay like this?”

That wasn’t quite a question and he knew it, but he felt like answering anyways, and I let him.

“I don’t know. I like girls. And I don’t like being alone too long. But it’s too complicated to…maintain.”

Maintain?

“You have to be something acceptable, reasonable, the choices you make aren’t about you anymore, it’s the both of us, and it’s so fucking…I don’t even know, it’s too wild.”

“You say that because you know no girl would take your shit. Look at you, you throw up completely drunk, you’re doing illegal car racing, and you’re too lazy to go college.”

“No, but seriously,” he said out of the blue as he straightened up in the bathtub to get more comfortable, “mariage is shit, everyone knows that. But women? They’re so fucking underrated. Think about it. Your life choices are poor, you work from nine to five, you’ve got at least three other mouths to feed, and that’s without counting the triple F.”

“What the hell is a triple F?”

It sounded like some nasty shit but then Eren simply smiled and said:

“Flawless Family Father.” He paused, like too many words were arriving in his throat and that was too much to deal with. Eren’s eyes screamed impatience and he smiled. “You know the guy, he only wears ironed british suits, and he never has sex with her for so many reasons. First of all, he ‘works his ass off’, right? I mean poor boy, sitting on a chair all day, clicking on his mouse, moving icon files on his desktop when he’s bored and raping the coffee machine because god doesn’t exist. Then there’s the saddest reason: he can’t fucking get hard, and he’s ashamed, because he’s the man out there, right? He must take care of the family and pay bills and make them happy and all that crap. But he-can’t-have-a-ridiculous-boner.”

He stopped, and I watched as I was convinced he’d suddenly start talking again; but he just threw his arm on the other side of the edge of the bathtub and when his hand appeared again, it was holding a pack of cigarettes and old lighter, most likely stolen.

“Just like old days, uh?” he said, and I didn’t have time to reply because he went on. “So, this loser triple F. He’s the loser of the month. Actually, he’s probably the loser of the year, but everyone fucking sucks in the tiny town he lives in anyways, so what’s the point? But well, the man can’t get hard and satisfy his wife and shit gets real because the problem isn’t just a matter of motivation, it’s _physical_. Can’t fight it, can’t talk about it—and he sure as hell ain’t going to the doctor to take pills because hey, triple F has some pride, right. But you know what makes him hard? Young girls. Young girls, fourteen to sixteen teenage girls who probably just had their first periods and are more concerned about the end of their favorite tv show than the end of the world. _That_ , and the friendly web.”

“You mean porn?” 

“ _Exactly_!” he cried out, finger pointed at me and cigarette in his hands, that he lighted a few seconds after. 

He took a drag and the smoke didn’t stink as much as I thought it would. Then I looked around, at the shy sunrays piercing through the windows, and in the still perfect silence of passed 6 am, I kind of admitted my life wasn’t near as shitty as poor triple F dad’s. 

“He never cries, he didn’t cry when they buried his mother, and he certainly didn’t cry when he found out the Rolex collection his wife had been buying him so far were amazing fakes. His little girl has a crush on the stupidest boy of the school, but he’s handsome, so it’s okay. His little boy cheated on the most important History test, and he kind of understood at this exact moment how much of a failure this kid would become. The guy feels guilty, everything’s his fault, and he knows he’s a failure too. So what? He still won’t go to the doctor, and he locks himself in his office one hour a day to jack off to gross teenage porn, because his dick is too weak to react to anything else. Meanwhile, his wife is crying in the bathroom and fucking the charismatic, 4-times-divorced-neighbor, whose name is probably Matthew or Charles, and keeps his socks on at night.”

A stunned silence, because Eren talking this much was unusual and I had to say he was right on everything. 

“Triple F eventually gets a promotion and avoids sexual activity as long as he can ’til his wife asks for a divorce but they stay together for the kids for a year or two, then triple F has an affair with his wife’s best friend, Stella or Kelly, and he pays for her fake blonde coloration every week, straight out from the kids’ budgets. Triple F becomes a fucking shitty human being and his wife never found wine so delicious. And that’s something, because wine is fucking disgusting.”

“Red wine,” I corrected.

“ _Red wine_ ,” he nodded.

“Well, that was something. I guess that’s pretty efficient if you want a motivation boost, or maybe it was to convince me not to get married even though that would never happen anyway.”

“Nah, I just wanted to show you how fucking crappy wives’ lives can be and no one ever gives a shit as long as they still go to the neighbours’ barbecues and mow the lawn three times a week. He shakes hands with the same hand he jacked off with and no one will ever know that is favorite key-words are _submissive_ , _teenage virgin_ and _fucked hard_ put together.”

Something hit me and I tried to look away for a second, but my eyes would always go back to him.

“According to you, love doesn’t exist?”

Eren fell silent, like he knew exactly his opinion on that subject but was trying really hard to find the right words not to give the wrong idea. And I waited, patiently, I waited another drag and a handful of seconds.

“I do. I do believe in love, it’s just…people are assholes. They make everything either complicated or annoying, if not both. They ruin everything. They ruined the concept of love.”

I felt like staying silent was a good idea, to think about his own words and maybe what I wanted to say back, but didn’t say—yet I couldn’t help asking questions I had, surprisingly enough, never asked so far.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” He frowned, looked at his knees, then his cigarette, and back at me. “I would have felt it. I would have known.”

My throat was dry and I knew he meant it. Eren being in love is quite a crazy idea anyways, but he’s too sensitive, he gives way too much, therefore it is possible. Stupid, but possible. Eren deserves a lot and nothing at the same time, and everytime I’d try to imagine what he’d look like with someone, I would feel either left behind or oddly ill-at-ease. Eren doesn’t love for free, he doesn’t give random kisses and send random love texts. He doesn’t act like those crazy, lost-in-love teenage souls, those would believe that love is everything, and maybe it is, I don’t fucking know. I don’t fucking know about that, about love, because I’ve never had it. 

And most of all, I don’t believe in it.

That’s what Eren probably realized as he looked at me, lost in my own thoughts, and he played with his cigarette to hide the curious look on his face. 

“You don’t agree, am I wrong?”

“Hm,” I just said, because Eren was a fragile kid and although we shared the same opinions on how shitty life can be, I didn’t want to steal the little hope he still had and kept for later. I didn’t want to tell him, straight in his face, that love doesn’t exist—but he asked. So I did. “It’s just something they created to get closer to god. Which doesn’t exist either. It’s so…fuck, it’s so dumb, how can you waste your whole life thinking that you’ll find the one? Like, the one you’re made for? It’s just. I don’t get how people can be that gullible.”

Eren didn’t move, he didn’t do anything, and his cigarette slowly burned in his hand. He blinked, blinked again, and the calming sound of water drowned the silence as he moved his legs to spread them on each side of the bathtub. I let him do that, because I hadn’t any reason not to, and he was there before anyways.

“I’ve read about that, once. It comes from a myth—that’s Aristophanes, right? Right. They say soulmate is something out there, that in the very beginning, human bodies were split in two and spent the rest of their existence looking for their other half. That’s quite charming.”

“It is. That’s why it’s a myth.”

I regretted my words because Eren didn’t say anything, he just stared, and put the cigarette between his lips like he was trying to figure something out. 

“People invented religions. They invented hell and heaven, love, the true, original meaning of friendship, which basically says you’d be willing to die for them. They invented sheer kindness and to make a balance, created sins like masturbation, selfishness or whatsoever. Listen to their bullshit, doesn’t it look weird? It should ring a bell. It should feel so obvious.”

“What do you mean?” he pressed before breathing out a little cloud of stinking smoke.

“I mean that they trick people into thinking those things exist, because they need to believe in something in order not to feel too miserable, or alone, or unhappy. They killed for it. They died for it.” 

“I don’t think God and love are the same thing.”

“Are you sure?”

Silence.

After some time, he replied.

“A soulmate is a person with whom one has a feeling of… a feeling of deep and—or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, friendship, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and…trust. Yeah, if I remember right, that’s what soulmate means. Thanks _wikipedia_.”

I frowned, half-stunned, half-sceptic, before remembering Eren has a good memory for those useless details. He failed school because eighty percent of his mind were retaining things seen on _Discovery Channel_ , _Wikipedia_ and _Youtube_ tutorials. Thing is, those things will be more useful during your future adult life than the bullshit they feed you with at school.

“Honestly, aside from religions, cultures, and everything you talked about, I really do believe there’s someone out there you’re made for. Most of people just never find them. That’s one chance on six billions.”

“Fate, you mean it’s fate.” He nodded, but we were talking fast, and I would have been further anyways. “But I say mariage is bound to end up in divorce. Those who don’t probably died before realizing they wasted their entire lives with a ridiculous paper and two rings they could have sold to pay their bills. That’s it. You can love people like I love you and Mikasa. But it won’t last my whole life. Maybe I’ll be old and remember how I used to love you both in my careless, lazy youth. But it doesn’t mean it’ll still be as true, valid and…genuine as now? And that’s what love is. Romantic love is just a twisted version of that, something that sounds cool and makes you less dead.”

I felt like he couldn’t argue with that, and maybe I was right, because he resumed his lips and looked at the water for longer than expected. I waited, sure he’d go on, but he didn’t.

I leaned against the back of the bathtub and the movement must have caught his attention, because his eyes lifted towards me and we stared at each other in a plain, almost peaceful silence. The sun rays lightened the room were like shy, timid sunlight just before a summer sunset. It was cold outside, but in this warm water, it almost gave the impression we were back in early July, when things looked more simple. It’s not much, but it’s still more simple.

Like some kind of wicked cue, something hit the window, gently at first, then harder and the intervals went from wide to nonexistent. It was raining.

“Well, what a good way to start a Sunday morning.”

“Shut up, it’s already bad anyway.” I held back a sigh and went on. “I feel like I’m going to throw up and I don’t want to face the world.” 

“Are you going to work today?” 

“Nah, it’s closed. But I must go early tomorrow.”

“Shit…” he said, and as if it took a few seconds to sink in, he shook his head. “Shit, that sucks.”

“Don’t you have schedules are the garage?” 

“Not really…no. I mean yeah I have to work the amount of hours planned for me, but as long as I do it, I can go anytime.” 

Fucking asshole with free schedules. I thought about quitting my job for a few minutes and came to the conclusion it wasn’t the good day. Or week. Or month.

And whatever.

“I think I’m going to meet Mikasa today.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s been a long time since we last spoke about personal shit. Like, we saw Dad and spent time together and all but it’s not like…it’s not really safe. Know what I mean?”

Safe? Nope, I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I caught the general feeling, so I nodded.

Mikasa, Eren and I had always been the trio. Not a trio, but the trio. The ones always stuck together, always in detention at the same time for the same reasons, always at the same parties, at the same place, we were like best friends and I believe we really were somewhere between brothers and sister, and best friends. Maybe both.

But growing up brings a huge amount of new factors, like a more serious school, a job, bills to pay, relationships to maintain, because relationships passed high school require a weekly (at least) upkeep, and by relationships, I mean both romantic partners and friends. Because, yes, friends do require a fucking maintenance. You don’t wake up one day and call someone you haven’t talked to in six months. That’s not fucking done, and even it is was socially correct, because honestly, I don’t give a damn about that, it’s stupid. 

Most of your relationships are most likely self-interested anyways. If you don’t admit it, then you’re either naive or really fucking thick.

The only friendship I am willing to make an effort for is the one I have for Eren and Mikasa. That’s all. End of the story.

“Wanna join?”

“Heh, I don’t know. I was thinking about—“

“You wanted to meet Hitch?”

“No.” I frowned. “I don’t know, no, but I guess that’s an option. I mean. Why not.”

Truth is, I didn’t really want to see anyone today. Eren was the harsh limit, he was the one I could bear in every kind of situation because I was used to him, and he was used to me. I couldn’t deal with dickheads and useless questions and violent sunlights and loud honking cars and slow traffic. I didn’t need that on a lazy Sunday afternoon. 

It was still too early anyway. The sun was barely up and I was sharing a bath with Eren, trying to get my body clean in every way.

“Take,” he said as he offered the cigarette, and I took it without thinking.

Took a drag, breathed out, closed my eyes, waited ten seconds, and took a second drag. That’s how you smoke in a bathtub. You take your time. You don’t give a damn.

Those were probably the last drags I could ask for because the filter was already yellow and there was nothing left to smoke. That’s also why Eren offered it to me, before it’d be too late. So I reached out for ashtray he had put on a wooden, small chair next to the bathtub, and smashed the two centimetres and a half in the field of ashes.

“Hey, hey shit I almost forgot.” I looked at him and sat back against the lukewarm surface of the bathtub and moved my toes in the water. It felt great. “Jean talked to Marco and you know, Marco works at the fast food, right?” There weren’t twenty fast foods in the town, Marco was hard to miss.

“Yeah, so?”

“He received three tickets for a music festival not far away from here. But he’s working. Full time. So he can’t go anywhere, and he offered the tickets to Jean.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Come on, we need to chill a little. Why don’t we go there? It’s in a week or something.”

“I’ve never been to a music festival.”

“Yeah, so what? I haven’t been anywhere either. This town’s like a prison.” Hitch’s words echoed in my mind and I felt irritated, because the idea of not being able to go where you want is fairly similar to being trapped. Doesn’t matter if it’s your hometown or where you wanted to be, you shouldn’t feel captive. “Armiiiin,” he whined, and I found it cute as much as I hated it.

“I don’t know, maybe, I’ll talk to Erd about it.”

“What about school?”

“Who cares about school. It’s not interesting anyway.”

I could easily pass the semester without working too much, that’s not the problem. The problem is that it’s not interesting anymore, and I don’t know if it ever was. I could quit, but I could hold on ’til the final exams, and having such a large choice is always difficult. It’s only two options, but it’s still called an option. Choosing is a privilege, but regret is a side effect. 

Somehow I thought about Mom and how proud she was, did I really need to disappoint her like that? She was away, she couldn’t see how much of a mess I had become—but she was bound to come back, someday. I couldn’t hide myself from here infinitely.

“Okay, yeah, maybe,” I sighed and Eren immediately reacted with loud words, loud moves, and I turned my head to avoid the sudden splash of water heading in my direction. 

Yet I couldn’t keep my mind off of that, and stuck in my throat, there was the oh-so familiar guilt that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much I’d swallow.

I looked at him for a while, smiling all alone like I had brightened his day. That feeling was actually surprisingly pleasant, but I was too distracted to talk. I looked at him and remembered the skinny, peevish, cranky little boy running down the block to knock at my door. He had changed so much, yet his eyes still held the same dark light, the one I couldn’t explain but liked anyway. 

His messy, dark hair had grown a little, but it was still too short to reach his shoulders. He could easily tug a strand behind his ear, though. 

As for I, things were still the same. Physically, mentally, I was still the same, and it felt exhausting. I wanted to change, to be someone else, I wanted to keep the good and sept on the bad. I wanted to keep my music tastes, my favourite food, color, I didn’t want to forget how much I liked sunrises and how bad I liked strong alcohol—but I wanted to embrace something new, fresh, something I had never seen so far. That’s the low of being yourself and not changing a bit. You know yourself so much it’s not even thrilling anymore. You come to hate yourself as much as you hate the rest of the boring people.

Inevitable.

One look was enough to check Armin Arlert’s evolution. And what a fucking evolution, right. My hair was still longer than Eren’s, still that soft golden kind of blonde, shining in the light, and sad in the darkness, yet it would still look filthy most of the time—my shoulders were still fragile and shrugging all the time, and my face still looked like a teenage boy’s, covered with half-curly, half-straight strands of hair coming out of nowhere. 

Armin Arlert doesn’t fucking change, he just watches as the whole world is outrunning him.

I listened to the rain falling against the roof and hitting the window, and wondered what the festival would be like. I didn’t know what kind of music there would be, or how many people I would have to avoid, but I didn’t care because Eren was right; we need this.

“Growing up is overrated,” Eren groaned. 

He rested his head against the back of the bathtub and I smiled quietly. Eren could be wrong about a lot of shit, but I liked how we’d always agree on this kind of stuff. Life choices, life at all. 

“Remember how we used to be so reckless in high school.”

High school wasn’t necessarily good memories for me, but where Mikasa and Eren were involved, there would always be some. 

We were the kind of friends to be there, no matter when, no matter what. And if Eren couldn’t be there for me, then Mikasa would. And if I couldn’t be there for Mikasa, then Eren would. That’s how it worked. It probably was easier since they were living in the same house, and meeting was, therefore, not much of a complicated thing according to our timing. Mikasa liked sports, but she didn’t have any hobbies, and Eren was even less complex: he didn’t have anything else other than his friends. I mean, he liked music, cars, girls. But there’s this age where everything sucks because you’re too careless to date, too young to drive, fuck and buy all the music you want, and somehow, Eren was happy to grow up, because growing up meant freedom, and that was enough for him.

He was fucking things up since little, but now, he could fuck things up with everyone letting him do so.

“Yeah. You had holes in your shoes and refused to buy new ones when your dad did. And when he did buy it, you’d bring your filthy shoes in your backpack and swap once out of sight. Oh my god you were such a loser.”

His smile was so wide I couldn’t miss the huge white teeth he was offering. Eren’s a weird kid, you know. He’s half-sad, half-happy, and when he smiles, you feel like he’s never touched anything dark, like loneliness, or panic, disappointment, anger. And Eren was angry, most of the time, because he had good reasons. Yet his smile was still enough to erase the souvenir of him being so furious tears would stream down his face.

“You still are,” I added.

His smile broke into an offended grin and I congratulated myself for waiting a few seconds before adding this. 

“Fuck off,” he threw as he hit the water, splashing in my direction.

I closed my eyes in extremis, but received most of it straight in the face, and breathed deeply as Eren’s crazy laughter echoed in the bathroom. I felt like throwing him a punch, and from where I was sitting, I could easily aim at his ribs with my feet, but decided his laughter was worth the act. He kept laughing for a good minute, because the wild blonde strands covering random parts of my face were now wet and sticking my skin, and I didn’t need to look him in the eyes to know I looked ridiculous. 

“Armin you look like a fucking dog going home after a walk under the rain.”

Closed my eyes again, fought back a smile, tried to think of something sour to defend myself, but Eren’s amusement was too contagious and I ended up half smiling. Which he considered as a victory because he laughed harder, until I’d spatter him in my turn, and this time, my laughter replaced his. It felt really nice. It was early, everyone was sleeping, we had the whole world for us and our fucking bullshit, and we were there, sitting in an old filthy bathtub like the two losers we were. 

I don’t know what’s your life goal or what you expect to do at twenty-one year old, but that sure as hell doesn’t reach our level.

Things couldn’t stop here so I grabbed my baby shampoo—shh, it makes my hair softer— and opened it while he rubbed his eyes from all this crazy laughing. I’m a goddamn devil, therefore I waited for him to lower his hands and open his eyes again, and pressed the bottle as fast as I could. I’m not as strong as Eren is, but the bottle was almost full, so it felt easy, and time stood still as it landed right where I didn’t want it to land.

“Holy—SHIT!” 

“Jesus!” I shrieked.

“My eyes! It burns!”

“Oh fuck fuck! Shit! Sorry man!” I dropped the bottle, which hit my knee before smashing against the surface of the water, and the emotion was too strong to decide whether I should fucking shout from the pain or apologize for Eren. I did both, one with the hands, the other with the eyes. 

“Fuck man, that’s shampoo!”

“Baby,” I whispered before shaking my hand in the air, searching for something to forget the pain in my knee.

“What?” Nothing made sense.

“That’s baby shampoo!”

“Armin what the—“

I expected Eren to be furious, but he was laughing, or crying, maybe, I can’t tell.

Then something hit the door so hard we almost jumped, and Eren stilled like a frightened animal. It would have been laughable if we weren’t totally freaking out.

“Ouch!” 

“Jean?” Eren called, ready to jump out of the bathtub at any moment even though we were locked from the inside.

“Eren?”

But he stood up too quickly and I was so sure he’d trip because, he always does—so I reached out for his knee and panicked in my turn.

“Eren!”

“Armin?” Jean. Eren looked at me with horrified eyes. His eyes were red and I made a mental note not to throw baby shampoo in his eyes again.

“Armin!” he groaned, like I had betrayed him.

“ _What_ the _fuck_?” a voice groaned, and my eyes opened wide at both the surprise and the relief. “You’re taking a bath together? What the _fuck_?”

“Fuck off, Jean!” Eren shouted, and I covered my face with wet hands, not really knowing if I should feel embarrassed or not. 

It was a normal thing for us, but someone talking about it would always make me realize how weird it was. But then, I started laughing softly because Jean’s face, behind this door, was probably worth a good amount of money. Jean makes the worst faces. He’s a fucking innocent kid, everything looks new to him. He could stop in front of our house every morning and stare at the mailbox he never checks with the “o” mouth, wondering when the hell did it come here.

Eren and Jean started arguing like I wasn’t there and I hesitated between shouting nonsense even louder and waiting. Chose the first option because it was more fun.

“Jesus Fucking Christ I love ranch toast!” 

I had to bring back together all the energy I had left from this two-hour sleep night and cover both of their voices, but it actually fucking worked, and I felt Eren’s gaze settling on me like I was some kind of crazy animal losing his mind. You can say what you want, but this method is effective.

Just like that, the volume went from unbearable to incredibly low and Eren sat back.

“You two are such goddamn weirdos I fucking swear. I’m out of here.”

“Fucking leave, get lost, _asshole_!” Eren replied, as I knew he would, and Jean must have had enough because we didn’t hear him again.

“Hey, calm down,” I said as I watched his childish features twist in an irritated expression. “It’s Jean, you know he wants to piss you off.”

“Well it works amazingly well.”

“Fuck, are you okay?” And I really was concerned, because Eren was red like he’d faint at any moment.

At this very same moment, Jean’s voice shouted again.

“I can hear you, dickhead!” Then a second of silence that seemed like an endless void of embarrassment. “…Not you, Armin.”

Footsteps were to be heard and we assumed Jean was gone for good. 

Eren didn’t add anything and I had to guess by myself what was up with us. He could be discomforted. Because no matter how proud he was, he was easy to discomfort. So I settled on this and decided we wouldn’t talk about it again.

We didn’t wash our heads and got out of the bathtub after some time, long enough for our skin to be all wrinkled and red. That was unpleasing but Eren started talking again, and it distracted me from the gross feeling of being wet and rugged.

“What’s the festival we are going to?” I asked out of curiosity.

“I don’t know, Jean didn’t mention the name or whatever, he just said there would be like…punk bands or some shit.” 

“Cool, then. Cool.”

He nodded and handed me a towel. The mirror was fogged and the bathtub still full—but cold. Outside it was already clearer but the calming sunrays had disappeared, replaced by a gray light, the ideal weather to stay at home on a Sunday. Eren must have thought the same thing because he picked up a casual outfit, by casual, I mean something he had already worn two or three days. He didn’t bother changing his socks, but he did change his underwear, and I just stood there as he offered his bare ass in the middle of my eye sight.

“Nice ass!” I threw, because I knew it would piss him off a little. Not as much as it would have if Jean had been saying that, though.

“Shut up,” he said, and I smiled.

I didn’t change my underwear, naively thinking I’d shower again by the end of the day, and we both headed to his room to find the second sock he couldn’t find. I sat on the edge of his bed, watching lifelessly as he walked on all fours in the middle of the room. His room was a mess. Mine too, but Eren had a particular kind of mess, the one you know is going to stay a mess for a long time. Not only because it seems impossible to tidy, but because you can’t visualize it being otherwise. 

You can’t be cardiac if you’re friends with Eren, because this kind of shit always happen. He was crawling on the ground, one sock in his hand, when he started screaming so high and loud I jumped on the bed, scared by my own physical surprise. He screamed for a solid five or six seconds, and I watched, eyes wide and low eyebrows, wondering what the fuck he was doing.

“I’m searching. For my sock.” He added when he felt my gaze lingering on him. 

You know those goat screaming like humans videos? Yeah? Well Eren could scream like those goats. And I fucking swear it’s not a good thing. 

He’d be sensational at _America’s Got Talent_ , but I doubt he would win the show with a secret goat scream game. By the way, I’ll never get how people can act so hopeful and naive and so easily influenced. The chance of you getting famous is lower than your chances of being rich, and that’s oddly linked.

Eren looked angry, although I had more reasons to be than him, and he kept searching for a second sock, not the second sock, just a sock, whatever the color or the feet. At this point, it didn’t matter anymore, it was just about finding two socks that would approximatively fit. Fashion sense doesn’t count when you’re too poor to buy socks—and this statement works with pretty much…everything. And since God has a particular sense of humour, he ended up with a bright blue sock on his left feet and a yellow one with holes on his right. _Nice_!

He sat next to me on the edge of the bed and we crashed on the mattress at the same time, bouncing slightly, elbows bumping into each other’s and hips barely touching. I put my palms on my bare stomach, and I stilled as he slipped his under his skull.

“I didn’t get off in four days.” 

That sounded like pure pain, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. Some complain about having osteoarthritis or a rubbish job or fakes friends. Eren complains about not jerking off. And in a way, it makes more sense.

“Need a hand?” I offered, and received a subtle punch at the waist. “I thought you couldn’t survive without doing it.”

“I don’t.” He sighed, and I side-eyed the calming movement of his lungs growing full before he’d breathe out. “But things got so quick lately. Dad, Mikasa, my job—hell, I have a job!” 

He said like it was a question and it’s understandable. Eren was the least likely to work, and not only because his skills weren’t highly in demand, for he had none. Not many. But it’s the idea, the fact that he’d find a job before Jean, who’s older, more reasonable, and maybe more serious about getting a stable job than Eren would. I’m not saying Jean’s mature and adult enough, he’s simply less crazy than Eren, and that makes a difference, believe it or not. 

But Eren working around cars could be a good thing. Nothing could piss him off and he couldn’t piss anyone off either, that sounds like a great deal, don’t you think? At this point it’s not even about achieving the perfect checklist, it’s about closing your eyes and pretend it’s a good bargain. It is.

“I think about Mom a lot lately.”

“That’s pretty much of a cockblock, right,” I teased, and I knew he’d take it lightly because I knew him well enough. 

He laughed, softly first, then it became a tiny sigh like he was relaxed and hopeless at the same time. I don’t say it’s not possible: I’ve been like this every day of this goddamn year.

“No, but seriously. She’d not necessarily be proud or anything…but she’d be happy. Dad looks like he’s not believing in me anymore. Look at him he acts like I’m still a kid and will change my mind in three or four days maximum. I’m gonna wake up and quit, it’s not gonna happen, I feel like I’ve got something going.”

“You do?”

He nodded against the sheets and closed his eyes. I knew it because Eren stops moving when he closes his eyes. 

“Yeah.” A pause, then he opened his eyes again. “Maybe I’m not gonna do this my whole life but imagine. I’m thirty-three, ten years from now. Still fucking mental, but stable. Doesn’t it sound fucking cool to you? Because it does, to me. It’s heaven in my ears, look, I’m crying. Maybe I’ll have a girlfriend and we’ll be in love, and maybe a cat, I like cats. I’ll be out of here, not this town, because we’re stuck here for now—but I’ll live alone and I’ll be independent. That sounds cool.” He paused again, like he was thinking about what he had just said, repeating his last words in his own head. “…Yeah,” he confirmed.

I stared at the filthy ceiling and wondered when it had been so easy to hope and so hard to be sure. Everything is only probability and hope, there is no certainty, not when you’re in your twenties, alone, and trying to figure out what a good life is. Is it being free, or having people around you, and what does freedom even mean? You’ll never know, but being twenty is asking yourself the most philosophical questions, and I believe you’ll stop asking anything passed thirty. Enjoy. As long as you’re freaking out, you’re still alive.

Married and silent means fucking buried.

Don’t let her shrieking voice cover your music. Don’t let your wife castrate you. Don’t let your children make you feel like shit, although you most likely are shit. Who cares? Who cares. Just don’t.

“That’s weird.”

“What is?” he asked, and his voice felt light, relaxed, even curious. I went on.

“You. Being stable and…growing up I guess. We’re so young, it feels like we’ll never be old. How does it feel to be old? To go to bed and close your eyes and realize you might never open them again? That’s so…blank. It’s so quiet and frightening. And you? You’re so lively. You’re loud and immature and crazy and that’s what makes you who you are, young and reckless.” Words bumped into each other in my mind and I lost the sentences I was about to say. Eren turned his head towards me, I heard the sheets moving slightly beneath our bodies. He was waiting for me to continue, and I waited too, ‘till I’d find the words I was looking for. “I can’t see you being adult and having other responsibilities than the one of not having any. Know what I mean? A girlfriend, okay…that’s weird, but okay. But being thirty, that’s unreal. In my mind, we’ll die young.”

His eyes lingered on my face a little longer and I could tell the exact moment where he looked away. We both looked at the ceiling and I felt stupid for a second for what I had just said—but the more I’d think about it, the more it made sense. People wouldn’t grow up in my mind, and I couldn’t project myself in the future, neither me nor Eren. 

No one will reach twenty-nine. At the same time, it forces you to live your whole life in a bunch of years, but on the other side, it’s the scariest. 

“Yeah, I actually do know what you mean.” Silence never seemed so quiet. “I’m wondering…is it the way we are or, will it pass? Is it temporary, this, all of this?”

“What?”

“The messy rooms. The filthy plates. The empty cartons of milk. The flickering lights. The loud music, the quiet TV, the burned food, the solitary sex, the stinking cars, everything being what it is right now.”

“Sure it’ll change. Not everything, but some things will. It always does.”

We heard Jean walking in the corridor and he passed Eren’s room without stopping. I knew the door was open and he could have seen us, he probably did, but we were all too tired for that kind of shit. So Jean’s steps disappeared after a door closed, and Eren straightened up on his elbows, looking straight at me.

“Let’s get drunk.”

“Eren. It’s 9 am.”

“I know, I know…I mean tonight, or tomorrow. No, tonight. Let’s get drunk and forget about this conversation, let’s forget it ever happened.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to forget those words, because in my opinion, the more you think, the more you learn to know your self, and the more you do, the more you accept things as they are. It’s important to me, to know myself, to accept things as they are. Maybe not for Eren, but it is for me, and I felt like these words had brought something important.

But I sighed anyways. And nodded.

Because that’s how it would always end—us being drunk like fucking kids discovering disobedience and cheap, disgusting alcohol, and even if we had done this too many times to hold the count, it would always feel new. We’d been drunk the night before, yet I had the feeling our next time would be different as well. And hopefully, I’d remember it.

“I want Mikasa in.”

Everything seems heavy and there is no solution.

When we went downstairs to sit in the kitchen, it was only 10 am. I hate to say this, but waking up early gives you something amazing. A feeling, an impression, something that tells you that you can do anything, and there’s no time, no boundary; it’s like the day is endless. Maybe it’s just that I’ve been waking up late too many times. But still, sitting there doing nothing and realizing that I had the rest of the day to keep doing nothing was amazing. No word needed.

I felt like there were too many things to do, so many that there was nothing to do at all. Nothing else than thinking about all those things and wasting my entire day sitting there, congratulating myself for waking up early, something that had been, by the way, purely unintentional. 

Guess that’s how most of your life passes by. You think you’ve got time, you feel at ease and next thing you know, you’re old and all your friends are dead.

We finished the carton of milk and silently apologized to Jean, then we took our bowls of cereals and sat on the counter, next to each other, doorknobs of the closets behind me digging in my back like a knife; but I was hangover, sleep-deprived and mentally low, so that was the least of my problems at this very moment.

Eren’s phone vibrated near the sink and he chewed lazily while checking it, before sighing so suddenly I thought he’d spit the cereals out of his mouth.

“What?”

“I gotta work. Nanaba needs me. She says the other guy can’t come today because he’s sick or whatever.”

I felt like throwing a sarcastic _responsibilities!_ at him but held it back ‘till the last second, fully aware that it was more ironic because of me than Eren. Eren was new, he was older, but this whole world of adult bullshit was something undeniably new; whereas I had been in this black hole for too long already, and I had too many responsibilities that I didn’t want to acknowledge. Not quite responsibilities, but the fact of being reasonable. 

It’s like staring at two cupcakes with cream and really nice frosting and, why wouldn’t you eat it anyway? But it’s useless. You just threw an XL bag of barbecue flavoured chips in the trash, and you know you’re not hungry anymore. 

But everyone knows you’ll take at least one bite. Guilt is something persistant so you might regret it soon after, but the guilt is also fucking useless unless you plan on throwing up in the toilets or starving for a whole day. 

Eren and I stayed on the cold counter for ten minutes, and even stayed a little longer after finishing our breakfast. The weather looked cold outside, and I tried to remember the feeling of the air brushing against my skin two hours ago, but the souvenir of warm water replaced it immediately. It’s that kind of weather where you’re wearing a big 90s jacket, short but thick, most likely blue or red. You look like a goddamn mushroom, and your mittens don’t cover your fingertips so you wonder if they’ll break or not—but I guess winter has its charm. I like winter.

Winter is calm, it reflects my moods. When it’s raining, I like to do everything slower, quieter, and nothing looks important. When it’s only dry and windy and cold, it’s like waking up on your first day of school. You know somehow it’s gonna suck but you get up anyway, because no one gave you the choice, and you feel like pissing anyway. That’s winter, when you’re twenty-one and living in a house with two other fuckers. 

Yet that’s really cool.

Eren left soon after, with oversized jeans and originally white—turned to gray sport socks. He did take a similar jacket as the one I talked about, and gave an irritated stared when I laughed.

It’s easy to be sixteen, living with your parents and ignoring them to show how much and how deeply you hate them. But when you’re living in an almost empty house, with no parents, you’ve got no one to be angry at, and that sucks, because you’ve got too much anger inside. Gotta let it out, right.

I had a thought for Eren and hoped that he’d find a way to let it out too and wondered if he had the right to wreck cars that arrived to the junkyard. That shit must feel good. Wrecking something, without having to regret or fix it later. Complete, clean destruction—that’s what gets the anger out.

That kind of thought usually leads to something deeper when you’re drunk on a Friday evening. You start wondering if mass murderers aren’t just tortured misanthropists, full of untold anger. It’s not just the love of violence, there is something else—something that pushed them off the edge. Nobody was born a killer.

But anyways, the day was young and I had everything to do. I could sleep. Shower. Go outside and the trash out, maybe just walk or pretend to contribute to society. I could jack off as many times as humanly possible, or I could make a David Fincher movie marathon, but none of these options looked right.

Actually, it was 11 am when I decided to do something with my life, and that’s how I ended up walking to _Kelly’s_ , not to find Hitch, but to find Mikasa.

And there she was, wearing her uniform, well protected from the cold outside by the old heater of the restaurant. I pushed the door open and wondered why _Kelly’s_ never had any male employee aside from the boss, but decided that this question would be a waste of time considering the fact that society still thinks young females are a good way to bring customers. 

She didn’t look surprised when she spotted me at the entrance, and the way she looked at me was familiar enough for me to know I didn’t need a permission to sit where I wanted. So I sit at the counter, behind which she was standing, hands moving, holding glasses, filling, emptying, but never stopping. It wasn’t even noon and the restaurant was practically empty, but she had to clean everything before it’d get crowded. 

“Hey,” she said when I took a stool, and at this early hour of the day, there was only two men sitting at the opposite edge of the counter. 

Mikasa was alone but I could hear someone in a room, in the back, but didn’t care enough to ask if it was her manager or another girl working here. 

“Glass of water?” She suggested, and didn’t wait for my answer to grab a clean glass. “You look like shit. Alcohol, right?” 

Her eyes met mine just to check my reaction and know she was right. She was always right, about alcohol, at least. She’d always know.

“I don’t even know what happened or, when did I go to sleep. I feel fucking empty.”

“How’s Eren?”

“He’s okay. He was in the bath when I found him. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with you but he had to go to work at the last minute.”

“I’m busy anyway,” she added, like planning anything would have been a waste of time. “But I feel like I need to drink alcohol instead of serving it.”

Everything was quiet and clean, a pure morning, no voice to be heard. The restaurant looked so retro it almost felt like we were thrown back to thirty years ago, and I tried to imagine what my life would have been like in such circumstances—not that it would have been much different, to be honest, since there wasn’t much to say about it in the first place. I was a boy, I was white, I was already privileged by being the way I was, and today it didn’t matter anymore. You just have to be smart and a prodigy to succeed. 

“I’ll see him tonight, that’s enough for today.” 

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.” She frowned like it was obvious and kept cleaning glasses. “He’s racing. At the junkyard.”

Oh.

“He didn’t tell you,” she assumed, half question, half statement. So I stayed silent, arms crossed on the counter and eyes low. “Whatever, I’m not surprised.”

“Why?” Irritation was burning under my skin and I had to fight back the urge to be agressive. Mikasa didn’t need me like that. 

“Because he knows you’d freak out and worry like hell.”

“I don’t,” I defended, and her lips shaped a strange smile. 

“You fucking do, Armin. Come on we both know you do. That’s what you’re doing right now.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t if he wasn’t so goddamn stupid.”

Silence. She put the glass on the shelf and turned towards me.

“Listen. It’s gonna be okay, it’s always been okay. There’s no reason to freak out because I like to think Eren knows what he’s doing. He knows cars more than we do and he likes that. And that’s okay. And if anything, he needs to fuck up to realize he’s doing it wrong, and I guess we’ll be the first to know if that ever happens.”

I knew she was being like that because Eren didn’t have anything else beside this now. He had his job, but racing would also be something starting from now and he needed us for that. He needed support, and assurance, he needed to be sure everything would be okay no matter what. For a second only, I imagined a car burning and smoking and Eren’s body crawling out of the vehicle as it explodes, him with it.

I guess even killers fear death.

It’s too early for that shit.

“He’s got a car now.”

“He does?”

“Yeah, Nanaba told him he could take care of the cars abandoned in the junkyard and fix them if he knows how to. What he fixes is his. He fixed a car, so it’s his. He needed to buy a few things for design and better brakes but it wasn’t urgent; that’s what he told me.”

She tugged a black strand behind her ear and I noticed her hair was shorter of a few centimetres. She had cut it since last time.

“How are you?” I asked out of the blue, because she looked tired and I wanted to know. She lifted her eyes without stopping what she was doing, and lowered them three seconds later.

“I’m doing what I can. The boss is being a fucking dick and Annie wants to hang out too much. Not because she particularly wants me but because no one else’s free lately. That’s called having limited friends.”

“You’re friends now?”

“No, I don’t know. I guess.”

I chuckled. That sounded like Annie—she didn’t give a shit about names and people. If she wanted to hang out, she’d hang out, independently of the company she’d be offered. Annie works in a tiny café with Bertholdt. Everytime she sees me and I greet her, she makes a tiny nod, and that’s how I know she likes me. Because Annie doesn’t nod when you greet her, she politely fucking ignores you. Funny how she’s working at the main counter. Poor commercial strategy, I guess, nobody must have warned them Annie didn’t like people.

Mikasa’s different. Mikasa talks and answers, Mikasa communicates—she has limited fucks as well, but she still got some. 

“What about you? You’re the one I should ask the question to.”

I didn’t reply to that and pretended I looked like anyone else. Pretended that I wasn’t wearing four-days old filthy clothes, that there weren’t holes in my shirt, that I didn’t have tender purple bags under my eyes and didn’t stink alcohol.

2007 is the year of pop and Mikasa didn’t have any power on the radio station the restaurant was using, and Beyonce’s _Irreplaceable_ started as I shifted straighter.

“Tired but I’m going to a festival with Eren and Jean, soon.”

“Ah, yes, Marco told me about that. So you’re going, uh? Well have fun. I guess you’re gonna sleep in the car.”

“I actually…never thought about that.”

She was right, though. She would have to sleep in the car, and we’d be three. Three in a tiny car. Any car is tiny for three persons. I wondered if it’d be Jean’s or Eren’s, and quietly wondered which would be the best. Eren’s looked bigger by a bit, but Eren driving wasn’t something I wanted to try on a long distance; yet Jean thinking him being the oldest of the group and owning the car driving us to the festival wasn’t a wise idea either. 

Mikasa put a glass of water in front of me and I stared at it a moment before thanking her.

I was just about to go on what we were talking about a minute earlier, a.k.a what a mess the trip with Eren and Jean would be, but Mikasa leaned in over the counter and I connected to reality a little too fast.

“See the guy back here?” she whispered in my ear, not too close, but definitely not far. I nodded, spotting the only customer sitting at a table, alone and apparently reading tomorrow’s newspapers. “He’s an alcoholic. He comes here almost every day, and usually stays for hours. He probably doesn’t have a job, and the other day I saw him near the old fast food Marco’s working at, he was at an old videotape renting machine. Like, what the hell, this machine hasn’t worked in ages, the 90s or something. It’s covered with concerts flyers and the thing saying _12$ for 4 hours._ ”

“Videotape renting machines are like the old _Youporn_.”

“Yes, well this guy was trying to remove money with his card. He was drunk as fuck.”

“How long did it take for him to understand it wasn’t made for this?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to witness him being struck by the obvious, but I bet he punched the thing for about an hour or so.”

I chuckled, both because it was ridiculous and because I didn’t have any trouble visualizing the scene she was describing. That’s something I could have done drunk, with or without Eren, and I guess it was quite sad—because this guy was always alone and the only thing he seemed to have was alcohol and money machines which aren’t really money machines. How… sad.

“Do you think it will happen to us?” I asked, distracted, because I needed to hear her point on that.

She didn’t say anything.

“Did he hear us?” I asked again, turning completely towards her as he frowned like hell. The question disturbed her.

“Why do you ask?”

“…because he’s coming that way, I guess.”

She looked at me so quickly I almost laughed and the gaze that brushed me before checking the table at the corner was both panicked and nervous. I hadn’t seen Mikasa like that in a long, long time, that’s why, a little mean maybe, I decided not to intervene.

“Hey,” he said as he stopped next to me, but talking to her only. I faked a lack of curiosity and focused on my full glass of water, holding back the purest laughter I’d ever have in the depth of my throat.

“Hi,” she eventually answered, understanding that I wasn’t going to help her. Not that she really needed me anyway.

“I was wondering, hm…” 

She frowned even deeper and I choked with water as a wave of crazy laughter emerged in my mouth. They both looked at me, but the old man quickly looked away. Mikasa’s stare remained. She was pleading me, but it was too soon.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she replied, not sure if that was something she should have answered. That was her real age, but god knows it wasn’t something he needed to know.

“Oh, nice, really nice.” A silence arrived, so obvious it almost physically hurt, and I bit my upper lip so madly it could have bled. “So, cute bracelets you’ve got there. Do they have any meaning? This kind of stuff usually has meaning. So what is it? The black ones for the boys, the colored ones for the girls? The white ones for animals?”

I looked down at her wrist and vaguely counted. She had more colored bracelets than blacks and, indeed, a thin white line was appearing beneath the thick layers of the other ones.

I choked again. Mikasa looked genuinely shocked, mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I finally asked, because Mikasa’s eyes were close to fall off her face and I felt like I had choked enough. 

He turned to me like he didn’t know I was there and the offended grin he gave me showed how much I was disturbing. Great! A fucking impolite teenager boy helping him from flirting with another teenage girl. How horrible is that!

“And who are _you_?” he asked me in his turn, probably trying to make me nervous; amazingly enough, it didn’t work and a sudden wave of unusual adrenalin shot through my veins, making me more awake than ever. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Mikasa threw just before I’d answer, mouth open and words just set.

“Boyfriend? He’s your boyfriend?”

He looked at me to check if I was confirming, and I nodded proudly. Not only could I be proud to be Mikasa’s fictitious boyfriend, but I was also having the time of my life and it was hard not to show it.

“The white bracelets are actually for my dogs. I have many, many dogs. I love dogs.”

I was lying, I hate dogs of course; but the joke he had made in attempt to flirt with Mikasa was becoming gross to him and it was perfect. The way his eyes widened, the way his face got more serious and suddenly grossed out by the idea he had earlier suggested. He looked fucking stupid.

“Do you love dogs? I have pictures of them.”

“That’s—Unbelievable!” he cried out, searching for the right words, looking around us as to search for Mikasa’s boss. “You’re going to get fired for that!” 

Mikasa frowned again, both offended and confused, but only because she couldn’t see how it would affect her.

“I don’t like this job. Come on, who wouldn’t want to get fired?” 

The guy looked at her in pure horror and panicked. 

“I’ll never come here ever again!” he said, and I smiled politely. As much as I could. “Horrible customer service!” he shouted, most likely adressed to whoever was working in the back room, and I held my breath until he’d reach the front door, leaving behind him his newspaper on his empty table. 

The door slammed in its familiar way and I lost it.

Mikasa slowly turned her head towards me, her face showing no expression, nothing, not a single fucking thing—she looked dead, horrified and stunned at the same time.

“What just happened?”

I just punched the counter, laughing too hard to give any answer, and she watched, a smile softly appearing at the corners of her lips.

“Did we just ged rid of the worst stalker I’ve ever had?”

I knew she was exaggerating, but trying to flirt with her at her worplace and obviously without her consent was just as bad, and I felt oddly proud.

“Armin, you’re the fucking best.”

“You know, you didn’t need me for that.”

“No,” she admitted, “but that was great.”

“It was.”

She smiled and I got a free drink for my heroic act. Not only had I been Mikasa’s boyfriend for one minute and a half, but I was starting to think this could be a good day, and I was convinced it could if Mikasa was a part of it.

“You know what?” 

I shrugged. She’d go on anyway.

“I don’t fucking care.” She reached for something under the counter and threw a pack of cigarettes between us. She took one, stuck it between her lips, and lighted it with her black-polished nails, half of it already gone. 

Something erupted in the room, straight out of the back room, and a tall, lanky middle-aged man appeared, arms dingling and eyes wide.

“What is happening here? You’re not allowed to smoke during work.”

His voice was serious and almost threatening, but Mikasa only turned to him, cigarette in her hand.

“Well, my bad.”

“You could get fired for that!” he went on, more nervous at the idea of his words not being effective at all.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Come on, fire me. I’m waiting.”

“I’m not going to pay you for last month if you don’t go back to work right now.”

Mikasa looked at me, not for help, or my confirmation for what she was about to do—but for the sake of the moment. Just as much as lightning this cigarette had been amazing for her, she was having the best fucking orgasm of her life just by standing here, stepping on the forbidden and the politically uncorrect.

Her dress was too short anyway.

“I don’t care,” she repeated, and I watched, amazed, stunned, completely mesmerized by what I was witnessing.

“What?” he said again. Poor boss was having a harsh morning.

“I quit.”

“You are not!” he tried, louder, because maybe it would work on Mikasa, right? Right, everything works so well on Mikasa. Threats, and rules, and everything polite and boring.

It happened like a slow motion in a movie, and she lifted her cigarette to her lips, slowly enjoying the fact that she was fucking up her current job for another minute of pure mental ecstasy. Those are the kind of moments you’ll always remember, it doesn’t matter what you ate this morning, or how drunk you were last night—you’ll be 60 one day and you’ll tell everyone how much of a hero you were for quitting your job this very same day.

I knew it was time to run when he finally reacted, diving forward like he was trying to get a grasp of Mikasa’s arm or cigarette. I hesitated, thinking she might need my help if maybe he’d manage to touch her—but then I remembered we were talking about Mikasa, the one badass chick, captain of the volleyball team back in high school, winner of eloquency tournaments, and the only girl no one could ever date. She jumped backwards and her laughter exploded like a bomb. She grabbed her jacket, I took her pack of cigarette and slid off the stool, rushing to the door, Mikasa’s shoes hitting the floor behind me as a confirmation.

The door slammed again, this time with us outside, and we both looked above our shoulders as her boss’s silhouette appeared at the other side of the counter, defeated and angry, face red and heart broken. I never thought I’d witness such amazing sights this early in the morning. Never.

Mikasa grabbed my hand and I almost dropped her cigarettes; then she pulled me closer, and we were running so fast we tripped on every step, crossing the empty parking lot and taking a mental picture of his car parked right before the restaurant for later ressources. A dusty filthy-blue Honda. The air was fresh, almost cold—the sunlight was running on our skin and we couldn’t breathe.

And we didn’t care.

Mikasa had just quit her job and I was alive again. No more breakfast at _Kelly’s_ anymore.

 

 


	5. the one with the racing car and the fur coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about white nights, alcohol and 24 hour long rants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are... going. I mean wow I struggled to finish writing this but I can actually see how big the steps I take with every chapter are. It gives me new possibilities and I'm getting closer to the Eremin side. Can't wait to write it, to be honest.
> 
> Okay, alright, alright. [mh418](http://mh418.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

DIY orgasms. That’s exactly what you need. You need burned toasts and broken toilets, you need a slow car and ugly furniture, you need someone to hate and someone to complain to, you need a bathtub big enough for two and surely, you need to pinch yourself from time to time just to check that you’re alive.

People seem to forget what it’s like to be alive. I’m gonna tell you what being alive is: Mikasa. It’s being her, knowing her, talking to her just for two minutes even when you don’t even talk to her ever again. Mikasa will change your life, whether it’s how she’ll look at you, trying to figure out if you’re boring or worth the attention; or what she’ll say, and a few words are enough.

There is so much to know about her and so little she allows others to see. Even I, although I probably am one of the most privileged human beings in the whole world because I knew humiliating experiences, dirty details and shocking truths. I knew at which frequency she liked to pleasure herself a little, I knew what kind of bra she’d wear and also when she wouldn’t wear any. I knew who was her first and only crush back in high school, and how much she hated herself for giving a fuck. I knew she hated pickles but would eat it anyway, and her laughter was as familiar as a morning alarm.

Mikasa was sitting on the couch in two days old undies and a Nasa shirt too big for her. She didn’t wear a bra, and I knew because she had mentioned it. Her hair looked like she had been sleeping for a whole week, casually falling on her face, barely touching her shoulders. Stunning.

“Is it Connie’s? It’s shit.” She groaned for a fifth time as she tried to roll a freshly made cigarette, but struggled to the point of throwing it on the large coffee table between us. I didn’t care, because we both knew we weren’t going to clean it up; so be it.

“Yeah, he forgot it the other day so I figured I could omit to point it out for a few days. Free material is always good.”

“Not this one.”

She quickly tugged a black strand behind her left ear and bit her lip as she grabbed a new cigarette paper. At least, we could say she was determined. Not that we were in a hurry.

“Where does he even find this? It’s a total waste of money.”

“Pretty sure it comes from someone else. I mean Sasha usually buys it for him on the way back home, after work. She always buys something.”

“And they can afford it?” She asked carefully, glancing in my direction for a second or two.

“I don’t know, they never talk about it. I know Sasha works at the other side of the town and she paints in her free time. Connie doesn’t do much. I think he goes to college. Sometimes.”

I felt like laughing at the last part, which dangerously reminded me of myself and my oh-so pathetic dilemma. In other words, to quit, or not to quit.

“How come you never ever talked about it? You live next to each other, and you both complain all day long.”

I shrugged, and she didn’t care enough to look up and check my body language; actually, she didn’t do anything else other than frowning as she leaned in to roll a thousandth cigarette. Buying some at the convenience store two blocks from here would have been quicker, but once again, we had eternity.

A CD of _Galaxie 500_ was playing on the old stereo we only used for drunk nights and loud music, and since the TV was turned on too and it wasn’t completely mute, we could hear tiny bits of _Californication_ in between songs. I’ve never watched it, but it looks cool. What’s cooler than a sex addicted, drug addicted, alcoholic and self-loathing writer with dislocated relationships and extremely bad decisions? Right, nothing, I thought so.

Snowstorm came on and Mikasa shifted at this very moment, reaching out for the remote to turn the TV volume down at the maximum. I looked up, both by curiosity and reflex, only to see she was holding a perfectly rolled, clean cigarette in her left hand. She didn’t look proud, she didn’t look self-righteous or overly content, to be perfectly honest, she looked nonchalant to the core.

I stared for a few seconds, losing myself in the process of silently admiring her, and she ended up feeling my gaze.

“What?” Her voice was full of justified confidence, yet it sounded oddly careful, and I smiled.

“How come you look so good in oversized, old, ugly clothes?”

I was lying, the shirt wasn’t that ugly. Actually, I would wear it if it was mine—altough I had any fashion sense anyway.

Mikasa simply looked at the edge of the cigarette she was licking to finish her work and make sure it wouldn’t get loose; then she looked back at me and softly shook her head. The strand she had tugged behind her ear came back onto her face and she didn’t both tugging it again.

“If that’s what your random compliments sound like, then I don’t understand why you’re still single.” She wasn’t forcing me into having any, she was joking, most likely—yet I couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of Hitch. She appeared positive and full of half-hearted hope, but I had been single for my whole life and the idea of letting myself care about someone else than Eren and Mikasa was completely crazy.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re still single, too,” I stole her words and assumed she’d probably sigh. She didn’t.

“Because boys here are either mentally illed, stuck in their preteen period, or cruelly lacking—”

“Imagination?”

“I was gonna say balls, but I guess it works too.”

I laughed.

She grabbed a lighter and quickly burned the edge of the paper roll, before putting both the lighter and the cigarette down.

“You put so much effort into this and you’re not even smoking it?”

“Later, later. For now I’m hungry.”

It was around 3 pm, maybe 4 pm, and we had only done two things: stopping at Mikasa’s to talk shit about life on her terrace and pick up some clothes; and not doing anything else other than sitting here.

Life was calling us. We were politely ignoring it.  


“Jean will probably wake up and cook something.”  


“For us? Nah.”  


“You sure?” Mikasa replied, and I knew by the look in her eyes she was gonna ask him.  


Jean would do anything for her. They both kind of know they won’t end up together, and they both kinda know they won’t ever date, yet it seemed like a pleasant game between them, and Jean wasn’t going to complain. Mikasa didn’t care that much, but she liked him, in a friendly banal way. Mikasa didn’t really want to date anyone, she considered her independence as primordial, but I knew if she had to chose someone other than Eren and I, she’d choose him.  


Jean’s a loser, Jean kinda sucks, but who doesn’t? He’s harmless. He’d treat her well.  


“Then I guess we’re going to wait ’til he decides to wake up from his coma.” I was gonna add something but a new song came on and I forgot the words. “Shit, this song is really depressing.”  


“You mean all of their songs, right.”  


We both chuckled. Mikasa’s shameful secret was depressing 80 and 90’s shit. She didn’t look like the kind of chick who’d spend her afternoons staring at the ceiling while Mazzy Star or Slowdive is on, but under those thick layers of outdated punk rock, she loved it.  


“Are you coming tonight? To Eren’s race I mean.”  


“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I’ve never been to one, so I’m not expecting much. Eren’s gonna kick asses, yeah, but after that? Everyone screams and goes home, and what? We shake hands, we share shoulders?”  


“I don’t know, Eren said there would be alcohol and the race is like a part of the gathering itself.”  


“But we don’t know anyone.”  


“Who cares? There will be dudes. You’re not gonna have a hard time socializing.”  


“Said the guy who never admitted he’s cute?”  


“I’m not cute.”  


“And I’m always right,” she said like she had proved her point, which she kinda had.  


A ghostly smile settled on her face and I sprawled myself on the armchair. The sunrays were pleasant, timid at this almost late hour for a winter period, it gave the impression that we still had hours and hours before the sunset, that the day had just begun. It had started with a hangover, and if the day’d keep going like this, it would end with a hangover too.  
Amazing.  


“Are you worried about tonight?” Mikasa said, and I realized I had zoned out.  


“No, no not really. Just wondering how it will end. I mean, Eren never raced.”  


“But he knows how to push the gas pedal.” Since I wasn’t answering, mostly because I was concentrated on a hole in the leather next to my hand, she added: “come on, see things on the bright side. If he wins, and I’m sure he will, we’ll get drunk. If he doesn’t, and I also know he’s stupid enough to do so, then we’ll get drunk too. You win on both sides, so what’s the deal?”  


“It feels weird. I thought Eren would find some peace, finally. I guess I was wrong.”  


“Armin, do you really think he’d get all calm and quiet all of sudden, and pretend that everything isn’t amazingly boring? That’s not the Eren I know, at least. He’s always been the most reckless of the three of us.”  


Mikasa was right and I knew there was no need to add anything. Besides, the idea of Eren being a car racer sounded cool as shit, although I wasn’t going to admit it.  


“When is he coming back?”  


“I don’t know, last time I saw him, I was still two fingers away from throwing up in the sink.”  


She chuckled and grabbed the cigarette she had put down earlier, and I watched lifelessly as she stuck it between her lips and lighted it.  


I wondered, just for a second, what it would feel like to kiss Mikasa.  


“Don’t tell Eren I quit my job, not yet.”  


Probably really nice.  


“Don’t worry about it.”  


And then it struck me: I couldn’t go to Kelly’s pretending to see Mikasa anymore. Not that I had done it this much in the past, but it had been a recurrent option. There was no need to pretend anymore, and I thought, hell, why pretending in the first place. I know Hitch wants me to date her, to stay polite, and she knows I’m not totally against the idea, mostly because I’m a sad, lonely teen and don’t know how to enjoy life without my two best friends. Which is problematic. Because I can’t share everything with them; I mean, sharing porn is alright, talking about their last shit in the toilets upstairs is alright too. But you can’t fuck your best friend just because you felt like it. You can’t just open the door and strip and think everything is gonna stay the same, because that’s a fucking lie.  


That’s why most of people stay intimate only with strangers. They can’t spoil that with the people they love, it would be too sad.  


That’s probably why I never dated Mikasa. If I wanted to, she probably would too. As for Eren, he’s like Mikasa’s brother, and he’s like mine to some extent. I’m not saying incest is necessarily bad, there are conditions for it to be correct or inhuman; but the idea of me dating Eren never crossed my mind in twenty-one years.  


And what would I do with him, huh? We’re two fuck ups.  


I can already see what will be written on Eren’s grave: I’m stoned and full of shit.  


Mikasa is like a melancholic Best Coast song. Eren’s like the first notes of a Black Keys song. Blues rock my ass. Eren is 99% rock and 1% blues.  


“Definitely shit,” she groaned at the cigarette, and since I laughed, didn’t hear the front door opening.  


“Eren?”  


“Connie,” I shook my head. Eren wouldn’t come home so early and so quietly, and Connie liked to enter the house without permission, which we’d never reproach him in the end because hell, we didn’t really care that much.  


“Connie,” he corrected as he appeared in the huge doorframe-without-a-door that led to the living room we were sitting in.  


“Connie,” Mikasa confirmed, and as if there was no fun anymore, she went back to her cigarette.  


She liked Connie, but she liked Connie as you like a good meal or a sunny day after two weeks of constant rain. It’s temporary, it’s nothing more than relief and short satisfaction. That’s how she liked most of people. It gets closer to tolerating than actually liking.  


Long story short, she didn’t give many fucks.  


I see limited fucks as a gift from the god that doesn’t exist.  


“What’s going on here? Where are the others?”  


Mikasa didn’t bother looking up at him and he kind of threw himself on the couch next to her, which I thought would result in Mikasa groaning even louder, but she simply stared at him just long enough for him to understand he was being a little shit. He raised both of his hands in a quiet apology and since Connie wasn’t the type to stop on these tiny details, turned to me with a freshly made smile.  


“So, where’s Eren? And where’s Jean?”  


“Jean’s sucking Marco’s dick in Jean’s car. Eren is taking the trash out.” Once again, Mikasa didn’t look up, and I noticed she was rolling another cigarette in between drags.  


“Really?” he said, wrinkling his nose like he wasn’t sure of his own words.  


“No, what the fuck, Connie!” she threw before sighing loudly, and Connie raised his hands again.  


“Okay, okay!”  


I smiled, picked up her cigarette in the ashtray and stole a puff without permission. I knew she’d allow me to do so anyway, so what’s the use of wasting words, time and saliva?  


“I mean, Jean and Marco is something that could happen, but I didn’t remember seeing Eren in the alley.”  


Mikasa stilled again, slowly turning her head towards Connie like it couldn’t be real, and I choked on my own smoke.  


“Jean’s not gay anyway,” I said as it was obvious, and to me it couldn’t be more than that.  


“How do you know?” Connie asked, and I thought poor Connie, he’s so fucking late at everything. Come on, dude, catch up with the world, you’re missing shit right now.  


“I think he’s gotten off too many times in the bathroom without locking the doors. It’s not even the doors… it’s him being loud when it’s 3 am and the walls are thin like paper shit. Let’s say Mikasa’s name escaped some times.”  


“Ew, gross!” she threw, cigarette back in her hand, but her smile was way too large not to be a little proud.  


The idea of Jean getting off in the bathroom we all get off in is actually definitely gross. But Mikasa liked to tease Jean more than anything, and I sometimes suspected her to have the tiniest crush on him. 

Not that she’d ever admit it, but I mean, come on. Who smiles at this kind of revelation? Mikasa’s one of a kind, but still.  


I cringed for myself at the random thought of them fucking on the toilets and resisted to the urge of sticking my tongue out. I didn’t want to have to explain it. Any of it.  


Let go Armin, let go. You’ve already seen too much.  


“Are you coming tonight?”  


“Coming to what?”  


“Eren’s racing.”  


“Racing?”  


“Yeah, you know, with a car.”  


He chuckled and shook his head in too many directions. Mikasa still didn’t look up.  


“Nice! Yeah, sure. When are you taking off?”  


Turned to the decoder to check the time.  


“Not now, obviously.” I felt like inviting Sasha too, both because I am a decent human being and because I liked Sasha’s humor, and then, black hole. “Where’s she?”  


He gave me the questioning “who the fuck are you talking about” look, and I tried not to feel too irritated. There are things I hate doing, like cleaning, repeating shit when people don’t hear a word, and answering unecessary questions like these.  


When it happens, breathe in and breathe out. Remember no one has to be murdered today. You’re too young to go to jail, and way too pretty, if you know what I mean. They can respect you for that ass, but you must be willing to share it, otherwise the word respect will quickly show its hidden meaning.  


“Uh, I don’t know, your girlfriend maybe. See any other girls around here?”  


I thought he was gonna mention the old lady with three fucking dogs living at the corner of the street, but thank god he didn’t.  


“Hm…she’s primping.”  


“Why? Do you have anything planned for tonight?”  


“No… but Sasha thinks we always must be ready for an opportunity on a Friday evening.”  


“It’s Saturday,” Mikasa pointed out.  


“Sure, I knew it.”  


I guess Sasha is right when it comes to be ready for anything, because none of us were ready for what followed. The music was loud enough to cover noises coming from upstairs, therefore I ended up assuming we were alone, and Jean’s car wasn’t in the alley anyway. So why would he be here?  


Well fuck me sideways, because I grabbed Mikasa’s glass of water and just when I took a sip, I choked like death was laughing in my back.  
Not only was I discovering Mikasa’s glass of water was full of pure vodka, but Jean appeared in the doorframe entirely naked. The horror on my face came back at him and we both looked at each other in sheer shock.  


I became red from choking and Mikasa looked up, frowning like a mom who’d smell something bad in the air. It happened so fast I couldn’t react, and Connie and Mikasa both turned around at the same time, Jean’s eyes growing wider than I ever thought they could.  


I was lost between laughing and crying, and let the others decide for me.  


“Jesus!” he shrieked.  


“What the fuck, Jean!”  


Jean dropped the pack of barbecue chips he was holding and covered his crotch with his bare hands as the chips spread on the floor.  


“Hoooly—“ Mikasa started, calmer than any of us here, and she burst out laughing all of sudden.  


I followed, because Jean’s horrified face was too much to bear and the way he just stood there, paralyzed and unable to even take a step backwards was amazing. That’s the kind of thing you want to remember forever—not Jean’s junk, but the way he humiliated himself in front of the only crush he ever had since he’s been aware of the existence of girls.  


Beautiful.  


“Man, what the fuck are you doing naked?” Connie threw, trying to get up but failing miserably. “I’m not looking, I’m not fucking looking at this!” he shouted as he turned around, covering his eyes with his palms.  


I choked again and wondered if they’d ever notice that I was close to death. Would they even realize I’m dead? Jean would, Jean was facing me and looking straight at me like he was pleading me to help him get out of here or silently killing me with his eyes, but Jean wouldn’t move to kill me because his hands were already pretty busy. I knew Jean well enough to be sure he’d never move it. And I started to wonder if he’d ever move at all.  


“Jean…” Mikasa started again, but she laughed too much to even pronounce a full sentence, and slowly shook her head before taking her cigarette in the ashtray.  


“I didn’t know you were there,” Jean replied, but it was hard to know who exactly he was talking to—except Mikasa, of course.  


Jean’s the kind to send a dick pic to prove he’s got some package down there, but he’d never dare to show himself soft like this, not for a thick pack of dollars.  
Mikasa was half naked right now, difference is Mikasa didn’t give a shit. She’s the girl that never fears losing when she plays strip poker. She always wins. But she strips anyway—well, not for anyone but herself.  


Mikasa’s my personal hero. She’s a garage girl. She likes to hang out half naked, to smoke pot in the afternoon, to switch everyone’s cigarettes and change passwords; she knows more about porn, drugs and politically not correct than you do, and she’s smarter than you’ll ever hope to become.  


“Jean the music is on, you should fucking connect.”  


“Come on, Armin, everytime you put music this loud is when Eren goes to the toilets and takes the loudest shit of the year!”  


Such big words for a naked man.  


Mikasa was still laughing all alone and Connie screaming to himself, shifting from the left to the right like he was praying god to unsee what he had just witnessed.  


I had already seen Jean naked by accident, but this was so much fun.  


“Mikasa I’m so—“ Mikasa cut him off and he almost took a step forward by reflex.  


“Yeah, I love you too,” and she grinned.  


She was joking, but Jean didn’t have to worry that much. Mikasa takes nothing seriously, not if it’s not offensive and directly provocative. She had already fought a stranger in the street for staring at her, and that’s what I call being insane and having no sense of surviving.  


But Jean naked? No big deal. Mikasa saw many junks before his, not necessarily with her consent but anyway. She laughs for a while, then she moves on; but that’s more a +1 than anything else. GG, Kirschtein!  


Jean ran upstairs like a little girl about to cry and Connie slowly, carefully removed his hands off of his face, relieved to notice he had missed Jean’s bare ass.  


“Is…he…gone?” Traumatized boy had only seen vaginas so far. You should google genitals from time to time. It helps.  


Not that I do that. The only things I google are everyday words and tutorials. I google bugs’ names and het porn titles because I live dangerously.  


My life is just like my internet history. Long. Makes no sense. Too many words. And not enough results.  


My life is the kind of google search that gets the “did you mean (insert bullshit word)?” shit.

 

/ / / /

 

You know, there are sure things in this world. Just as much as black lingerie is bought to be showed to someone on a drunken Friday night, cars are made to be driven. That’s what lead Eren to the conclusion that he could, despite the cruel lack of driving license and experience.  


I can’t talk, because I don’t know shit about cars. I know I like old cars, and I know I like them loud, the good kind of loud, Eren’s kind. But I don’t know how to drive them, and I don’t know how to race. 

Thus, I should probably close my eyes and convince myself that Eren isn’t in my shoes, and hopefully won’t die tonight.  


We stopped the car somewhere on the crowded parking that actually had nothing to do with a parking, and I wasn’t even sure this gathering was nowhere near the legal label, but hey, anyway. I wasn’t going to call the cops, and that’s the only thing these guys would give a shit for, right.  


So we all got out of the car and looked around. It was dark, but lightened with old streetlights and bright headlights; and most of the cars had their doors open and people would sit on the woods like it was exactly the thing to do, a beer in their hands. So far, I only had seen such a thing in movies, but I guess it’s time for me to live the real life.  


Mikasa stayed closed to me, not because she was afraid of meeting someone she didn’t want to meet, but because she didn’t want me to lose my way in this loud crowd. There was dust everywhere, and music, there was music coming from speakers but it was too dark to exactly tell where they were; and I stepped on a few black cables, half buried in the ground.  


There was a small building behind, like an old fast food, but only recognized it as public toilets when we approached a little more. A few guys stared, because Mikasa was there, and Mikasa stared back. 

She wasn’t provocative, it was her usual attitude and she didn’t pay much attention.  


“Damn, there are more people than I thought.”  


“What, did you think it was a private thing? Close friends and first aiders, just in case?”  


“Ha ha,” she said clearly to prove I wasn’t funny, and we kept walking as we studied the surroundings. “But seriously, what are all these people doing here? I doubt it’s an official thing, or is it? How many people are racing exactly?”  


“I don’t know, maybe there are several races. Fuck if I know, really.”  


I shrugged but she didn’t see it, and we passed a black haired girl where the wire fence ended.  


“Where are the others?”  


“You mean Jean, Connie and all that crap?”  


“Yeah, yeah.”  


“I thought they were following us.”  


And I was right. Mikasa took her own car to drive us here, but Jean took his to bring Sasha and Connie, and last time I had turned or looked in the rearview, they were glued to Mikasa’s rear bumper. I glanced behind us again, but didn’t care enough to search for the right faces in the wave of people.  


“What do you think they’re smoking?” Mikasa ended up asking as we passed a group of people sharing delicious death sticks.  


“Cigarettes.” I looked at my sides and caught her almost naturally frown-shaped eyebrows. “No, Mikasa, it’s not weed. Not everybody likes that shit. To be honest, it’s not that common, and it’s a small town.”  


“It’s not a small town. It’s just a dead end, a good old cul-de-sac. You call this small? Go to the city centre and admire the amount of old people. They’re wasting money and space and ruining the economy.” She paused, and then repeated. “It’s not a small town, just a fucking dead end.”  


I scoffed, because what she said wasn’t hundred percent wrong, and we both immediately stopped at the sight.  


Where we were standing wasn’t Nanaba’s junkyard, it was, actually, right above—and from here, we could clearly recognize the shape of the racing track, with the iron corpses forming this impressive nonsensical lines, and this pile of dirt in the middle like the top of a mountain.  


“Wow.”  


Right.  


The sight was something different from up there, but Mikasa had never seen Nanaba’s place from near at all.  


People were already gathering around the track, sitting on cars and filming their drunk friends dancing on the roofs. There was music there as well, so we descended the hill and she caught my arm when I almost fell.  


We were both holding fresh beers bought on the way, and I wondered where Jean could be.  


“Where’s Eren?”  


We found an old Volvo and climbed on it as she seemed to search for an answer to give.  


“Must be around, right…” and a look around went along her words.  


Mikasa had finally put underwear on, and exchanged her Nasa shirt for an old blue and purple 80’s knitted sweater. And for once, she was wearing a skirt, a random cream coloured skirt that wasn’t too short and too long either. Her hair wasn’t tied in a bun or a ponytail, and the occasional wind would constantly make it fall in front of her eyes. It had happened so many times since we had entered the car that she didn’t bother pushing it back again.  


“Look, he’s shere.” She sat on the roof and I settled for the wood, thinking that maybe I would have the opportunity to use this not-so-destroyed Volvo and take advantage of the fact that the glass was still intact to lie down a bit. But I was wrong, because Eren appeared next to me, out of the blue, and crashed next to me without a word.  


“I thought you were racing tonight.”  


“I am,” and his voice felt like an old souvenir to my ears, like I was meeting a friend twenty years after fully breaking off all ties. “But it’s only starting in like, ten minutes, because some of the racers aren’t here yet.”  


“How many are there of you?” Mikasa’s voice asked from above, god-like.  


“Ten, maybe. But most of them won’t stay long. Their cars are total shit and they’re incompetent.”  


“Said the guy who’s going on his first run.”  


“I don’t care about experience, really, and I don’t care about the money they’ll give. I mean, yes, sure it’d help and I won’t refuse it, but come on. Racing is something you have to win, and enjoy. And you have to know how cars work to do both. It’s not just aboust blasting Route 66 and going on full speed and hoping that the car won’t give up, or that the brakes won’t die in your hands. There’s more to it.”  


“Not everyone can race, hm?”  


“Yeah,” he confirmed, ignoring my teasing tone, which led me to the conclusion that he actually was nervous.  


So I turned to him, and we both exchanged a quick look, sitting like idiots on what remained of the ghost of a car.  


“Relax, man. Police won’t come. No one will die. Your car is looking great, and your hair too. Breathe some freshly polluted air and take a peek at your underwear to check if your balls are still here.”  


“Ha ha, funny.” It wasn’t, and he didn’t try to convince me otherwise.  


“No, this is fucking up dog.”  


“What’s up dog?”  


He looked at me with questioning eyes and as Mikasa’s laugh echoed above us, the purest smile I could ever make slowly lifted the corners of my mouth. And Eren’s eyes softly lit up.  


“You asshole, that’s not funny.”  


“I was gonna answer something like, “nothing, dog”, but I couldn’t spoil the satisfaction of watching you understand the joke.”  


“Oh, because you call this a joke? I call this a fucking shit. And I call you a fucking nerd. You’re a nerd. You suck.”  


“I know you love me,” I said, and smiling felt so good it hurt my face.  


At least, I had managed to change his ideas. You can give me that. And for my defense, it’s not my joke; 99.9% of my jokes come from the good ol’ internet. Probably why they’re so bad.  


Someone started talking over the music in a mic, and we all turned around, looking for the source. We saw no one, so we listened quietly. Someone had the good idea to the turn the music lower.  


Basically, whoever owned this mic owned speakers, and was going to comment this race. It wasn’t an open race in the city, which would make it possible, but I knew enough of Eren to guess this fresh and unknown detail was making him nervous again.  


“I bet these guys are calling you kid.” That wasn’t going to make him less of a nervous wreck, but I wanted to know.  


“Don’t forget son,” he nodded.  


“What am I forgetting, dad?”  


He took only one second and a half to understand what was wrong and closed his eyes before laughing softly. That’s a fucking double! Bring me some beer, I’m ready. Shit is getting real.  


“Okay, fuck you, Armin.”  


I smiled.  


Eren knew enough about cars to win a race like this one, right? And for a brief moment, I felt proud, not like a dad, or a friend, but like a best friend. I felt proud for being his and proud for having him at all. Proud because I knew he could win this shit and maybe just proud because I was feeling happy.  


“Don’t screw this, okay? You know Jean will never forget.”  


“Really?” he hesitated, frowning, like he wasn’t sure I was serious.  


“Remember this time where Jean took an old yellow shirt in his closet, the one you used to hate, and painted “I hate life” on it before offering it to you on your birthday’s?” Mikasa’s voice came to us again.  


“Yeah, how can I forget. The next year he took a blue shirt and painted “I’m an ass” on it and offered it again. What will it be this year? “I suck dicks” with a kindly written “for free” on the back of a green shirt?”  


Mikasa and I chuckled at the idea, and Eren finally followed, because we all knew he was capable of doing that and that Eren was even more capable of wearing it. It’s a cute souvenir regardless.  


The kind of souvenir you think of and laugh, not the kind to give to your future son, so that he can give it to the next generation in his turn. Even though it sounds tempting.  


The mic guy introcuded the racers and Eren’s turn arrived.  


He wandered a thoughtful in his dark hair and I watched in silence. His skin looked so dark at night, although his skin really was tan; but his eyes were so clear, at all times of the day, they looked like tiny golden circles burning in his eyes. I remember how I used to be jealous, younger, at how Eren looked, because I was so banal next to him, with my pale face and my sad blue eyes. I didn’t look too much like a girl, but I definitely didn’t look as cool as Eren. I ended up thinking he was born like this.  


Eren shifted and it broke my momentum.  


“Where are you going?” I panicked.  


He already was on the ground and walking towards the garage when words came out of my mouth. He turned around but didn’t stop walking, and Mikasa answered.  


“He’s called. They’re all called.”  


“So it’s gonna start, huh.”  


“Yeah, I suppose.”  


We watched as Eren disappeared behind the line of cars and I felt nervous for him. I didn’t have valid reasons, I knew he’d be safe and I knew he could win, maybe, if he tried hard enough. He could also fuck up everything, because Eren’s still Eren at the end of the day, but I didn’t care that much about the consequences.  


I just felt like a rich blonde mother coming straight up from the suburbs, leaving her child to the (private) school for the first time.  


While waiting, Mikasa didn’t say shit, and I wondered what I would be capable of doing for Eren. Would I quit my job, and give up on school? Would I steal? Kill? Would I suck a dick? No one knows.  


I don’t think love and friendship can be measured that way, yet it can lead the way towards a conclusion of some kind. My job and school are worthless next to Eren, but here again, I don’t care about that shit even without such a dilemma.  


It took them a few minutes to get ready, to line up their cars and make sure everything is safe. Safe, but no one wore anything close to a helmet or overalls. I guess it’s the wake up call to remind you that it’s in no way legal or official. That’s just some dude who set a date, a place, a thick pack of bucks, and decided to watch.  


“Look, it’s him.” I checked in the direction Mikasa was pointing, and recognized the car Eren had recently fixed. It would probably need more fixing after tonight.  


I think the music behind us got louder, and everyone gathered at the broken cars, sitting everywhere it was possible to sit. I wasn’t concentrated enough and missed the start, but when I looked at the huge tracks to search for Eren’s car, I found him in the middle pack. That sounded hard, to drive, I mean—because they were too many cars and the road was too narrow, which provoked the first crash and the first damaged cars.  


Eren was stuck between two old cars, and the white one at his left didn’t seem to joke about this racing thing. I cringed for a second but he suddenly pushed the brakes and the white car lost control from the surprise, when she was about to bump into him to get him out of the road. Eren sped up and overtook the other car in less than a second.  


“Wow, he really knows how to do this.”  


“Hours playing driving video games must help.” I smiled, remembering how Eren would always get angry at and for everything, and surprisingly enough, I doubted he was even angry at this very moment. All 

I could picture right now was him, smiling and screaming joyfully behind his steering wheel, having the time of his life.  


It doesn’t seem too dangerous from up here, but it’s truly terrifying. Not only the risk of having an accident is dangerously high—but a car being sent to the side, roll over or not, can set itself on fire in a minute. If that happens, you better be quick to get out of this fucking car before the flames get to the reservoir.  


I had never seen a race, never in my life, and it’s oddly quick. And all you can do is sit there and watch as they provoke each other and violate the speed pedal. The curves can be fatal, but Eren was amazingly good at dealing with it—and used the brakes just as needed. I ended up clutching my own shirt without noticing, and as everyone screamed louder around us, holding their beers up to the sky, Eren passed the finish line at hell’s speed.  


Mikasa had a sister reflex, and sent her first all around with cute, soft victory roars.  


It felt unreal.  


“Did he—“  


“Yes,” she turned to me and showed me her teeth, perfectly aligned. That kind of smile makes you smile back. “Man, I knew he had this.”  


That was intense, and the other racers didn’t look alright.  


A car was rolled over, smoking, and another had violently bumped into the metal carcasses forming the tracks. They were safe and sound, but couldn’t finish the race.  


Eren’s car stopped at the entry of the dusty circuit and the headlights went off. He didn’t have time to get out of the car that some girls were already running towards him, and I looked with utter irritation. 

Good thing was, I wasn’t alone, since I felt Mikasa tensing up next to me. We both cringed and looked away.  


“Give me a gun. I was born to clean the surface of this Earth from all these stupid, worthless creatures.”  


She had said calmly and almost sarcastically, but her tone was still dry enough to show her frustration, and if she wasn’t her sister, I would have sworn she had the fattest ugly crush on Eren. Which she kind of had, in a weird, twisted way—and I knew no matter who she’d date, she wouldn’t love them any more.  


I watched from afar as Eren ridiculously blushed (I assumed), air stolen by the crowd forming all around him, and I gave up on even trying to get his attention. He’d come, at some point, he’d come.  


I was stinking, and too tired for the politically correct, and looked around, hoping for some distraction.  


Wasn’t disappointed.  


“Isn’t that—“  


“What?”  


“Hitch, over there?”  


I vaguely pointed an index in the direction I was looking at and I felt Mikasa’s sweet perfume meeting my nostrils. The music was loud again, we had to scream, and when I looked at the tracks again, Eren had disappeared.  


“Yeah, looks like she came here too. What were the chances, huh,” she said, and I suspected her of inviting her for a minute, before spotting an arm around her waist.  
What the fuck.  


“I didn’t know she had contacts.”  


“She doesn’t,” I said. In fact, I didn’t know shit about that, I just wanted to let out the vaguely irritated words stuck in my throat.  


A man talked and she laughed, I couldn’t hear it, but the huge gap between her lips was either an invitation for kissing or a blatant exaggerated laughter. Both, maybe.  


Mikasa ended up looking away after some time, not planning on wasting her date by calling her out—and I sat on his filthy hood like the loser I was, watching the girl I thought liked me flirting with someone else. It’s not that I was jealous, I was possessive. That’s me, I’m possessive, can’t help it, and in a certain kind of way, I felt like Hitch was mine.  


Not that I had any rights or requirement on her, but I knew it couldn’t be bullshit all this time. Hitch liked me. Which led me to the sad, monotone conclusion that Hitch wasn’t a pathological liar, but an attention whore with a particularly bright ego.  


It didn’t mean she’d kiss or fuck this guy in any way, it just meant she wasn’t about to push his hand away and decline his low quality flattery.  


“We’re the low of this world. We’re the fucking sideways people walk and shit on.”  


I heard Mikasa shifting a bit next to me, but didn’t look. I was too asborbed. It’s only when Hitch spotted me that I considered looking at Mikasa.  


But I didn’t, not immediately. I looked back at her and her smile faded away just enough to become a shy, honest smile, not that ‘flatter me to death’ bullshit she was obviously serving all around. I should have felt privileged, but I didn’t, and that’s when I looked at Mikasa.  


Maybe I was born a manipulative monster too and thought it would do me some good to hurt her by looking away, but I didn’t care enough to feel guilty about it. She was the one flirting with strangers with beards and leather jackets.  


“Yeah.” Silence. “But we’re necessary,” I added to her words.  


“If you say so.” She didn’t sound pessimistic, she didn’t sound anything. She was just acknowledging my statement and considering the fact that maybe I could be right. “I wouldn’t change a thing for the world anyways.”  


And, there she was, being the girl I knew. She was accepting how badly this life could suck, yet still admitting she liked it better this way. And I thought the same.  


It’s tiring to hate everything, to stink, to wear old clothes full of holes and stains that won’t go away, to waste weeks thinking nothing is worth it, thus not do shit at all. But I couldn’t picture myself or anyone here living differently. We were okay like that. We were made for this shitty lifestyle.  


I was made for attracting lonely, sad girls older than me and I was also made for watching them brushing shoulders with strangers, eyes half closed for the innocent effect.  


Mikasa was made for attracting everyone and she was also made for hating every one of them. Sometimes, just sometimes, they’d hate back. Mikasa’s the type every girl dreams of kissing but will never admit.  


“Have you ever considered dating girls?” I asked thoughtfully.  


The idea of Mikasa being openly bisexual wasn’t new, Mikasa actually didn’t give a shit about genders. She did care about personality matters and love disasters. The best was, as much as I did, Mikasa didn’t believe in love. Pure, fake, half, teenage, virgin, interested love—the title of the tragedy doesn’t matter. It’s a myth.  


“Yeah, sure, why not. They just never asked me out.”  


“Because girls in this town are fucking cowards.”  


“That stinks bitterness. Wash your mouth, brother.”  


She laughed and I sighed, too tired to try to convince her otherwise. I wasn’t being bitter, just realistic.  


“Seriously, look around. That sounds like a bad 90’s movie called Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers. And I love 90’s movies.”  


Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers is the name of a song, anyways. At least it’s a good one.  


At first, Mikasa didn’t make a sound, but I figured out by the subtle move of her chin that she was studying the surroundings.  


“Ah, there’s Eren over there. Bet he’s not going to come around here for a while… but, well, fame knows no rest.”  


The idea of Eren becoming a fresh celebrity in the illegal racing world of this small, tranquil town gave me violent nausea and my eyelids suddenly became too heavy. It’s not that I’m incapable of feeling happy and satisfied for Eren’s social exploits, but I couldn’t tolerate the fact that these stupid people would get to know him as much as I do.  


Call me possessive, that’s the truth. They don’t deserve a dickhead like Eren. They don’t even deserve the crumbs of our friendship.  


“Do you think he’s going to do it again?” she asked, detached; not because she did not care, but because she already knew what I was about to say.  


“Sure. And he’ll do it as much as possible, because it strokes the ego and shoots some adrenalin. That’s everything a man really needs, society’s wrong; it’s not about sex and money, it’s about feeling alive and important. Feeling missed and adored.”  


I had never known such a thing, fame, or temporary adventure, because none of these things exist in the place I live in. At this isolated area of Chicago, there isn’t much to stroke your ego and shoot some adrenalin.  


“When are we going home?”  


“Soon,” Mikasa sighed. “As soon as Jean decides to emerge so I can tell him to keep an eye on Eren. Just so that he doesn’t get killed, or raped, or randomly pushed in a river while he’s too drunk to even remember how to swim or breathe.”  


I chuckled, almost looked at the watch I didn’t have to check the time, and realized we weren’t going home in a while. Mikasa had her car, but we both we weren’t going to leave Eren here when really, he was the only thing we had come here for in the first place.  


We slid off the car and her old shoes landed in dirt, not that she did care about that detail. In fact, she walked carelessly and I kept glancing at her feet, distracted—fascinated by the way she’d just hover the ground like a jumping kid. Mikasa was barely human.  


“You know, I have friends in town and I think they got me a new job.”  


“It’s only been a couple of days,” I pointed out, uselessly.  


“Yeah, but I need money, and it’s a better plan than Kelly’s anyways. I mean can’t be worse than Kelly’s, right?”  


Not everything about it had been wrong and unbearable, Mikasa looked cute in yellow and I liked to watch her hands move around effortlessly when she’d been working at the bar.  


Mikasa’s hands… they could slap the shit out of your arrogant face, and they could wake the thick layers of pleasure lying underneath your skin. Surreal.

— — — — — — — —

I woke up with bad anxiety and cruel nausea.  


You know, this point where you’re so hungry you start feeling sick, or when you drank too much and you feel like throwing up? That’s exactly it. A quiet, soft discomfort, discret enough to allow you to move and do shit, but enough of a nuisance to keep you from feeling good. And right after waking up, it’s the worst.  


The three usual seconds of panic made me consider the possibility of a longer nap than expected, but gave up on establishing theories to prevent a subtle headache. I could have slept a whole day without anyone caring to wake me up and my phone’s battery dead, or I had fallen asleep three minutes. I don’t know which is the worst, when you know that you rarely fall asleep again twice in the same drinking night.  


I decided to check if Eren was sleeping in his room, and during the ten seconds trip, vaguely recalled what had happened before. I pictured Connie talking loudly, too loudly, as usual—and Jean disappearing to the kitchen a few times, or Mikasa hitting Eren with a book after what probably was typical bullshit coming out of his mouth. Other than that, clear void. I didn’t know when I had gone to bed, and I didn’t know how much I had drunk.  


Carefully, I pushed Eren’s door and my hand fell back against my thigh when I studied the room and found no one. The bed was empty, but the sheets were undone, which meant absolutely nothing since Eren never made his bed.  


The post-disappointment irritation caught my throat and didn’t let go. I wasn’t panicking, but I was definitely hating this. All I felt like doing was going back to bed, but I was sweating, and the sheets were too heavy, too hot, too much—and I knew it would be a waste of time because I was tired but awake.  


Eren’s room was the same the last time I had entered it, minus a few exceptions that would easily pass through the net. Eren’s clothes scattered all around on the floor, moving from places to others day after day, piles of filthy clothes getting bigger, thicker, or simply occupying more ground; half empty glasses on his nightstand that didn’t look like they’d see the dishwasher ever again, but I didn’t criticize, because mine wasn’t better.  


His green lava lamp was turned on and the blue, calming bubbles were the only thing moving. The light it provided let half of the room clearly visible, yet still dark, and I stopped before Eren’s retro metal plate at the top of a chest of drawers: “Beer, making ugly people have sex since 1862.” Above was another plate, saying “Everyone needs something to believe in… I believe… I’ll have… another beer.”  


I snorted and shook my head, but the nausea came back right away.  


I briefly looked around, my gaze slipped on Eren’s small armchair, his oh-so full laundry basket, his black backpack, shoes abandoned on the floor with their 3 meters long laces, and even books he once bought in a past life and never read. Then I left the room and stopped in the middle of the corridor to massage my temple and let out a loud, controlled sigh.  


Eren wasn’t in Jean’s room, or the toilets, or even the kitchen. He was asleep on the couch with the mute TV lightening the room as a documentary resumed on the screen, and something moved at the left, making my insides jump with a short rush of panic and the unpleasant need to throw up.  


“That was quick.”  


Jean was sitting in the armchair at the back of the living room, at the opposite of the entrance. It’s located right next to the couch and turned to the side, close enough to the TV to sit there and die in peace. There’s a tiny table between the couch and the armchair, where we used to put a lamp that would actually work, but you can easily get an access to this piece of shit grandma chair if you’re flexible enough.  


A sigh, and he kept going. “You went upstairs like, half an hour ago. I thought you’d be knocked up for at least fourteen hours, if not an entire day but I guess I was wrong.”  


He looked tired, like he was trying to sleep but couldn’t, and a little bit annoyed, too. He was holding a can in his right hand, but he put it on the table when he spotted me standing there. Jean noticed my gaze, and nodded to himself.  


“Heineken. Found a six pack in the bottom of the fridge, so I celebrated the discovery.”  


Jean leaned forward and before I could even ask what he was doing, something flew in my direction.  


“What the he—“  


“Take a sip. There’s plenty of it.”  


I turned the can in my hands until the brand appeared and watched in silence what Jean usually calls the beverage of the Gods. He’s not entirely wrong. Beer, as disgusting as it is, can be extremely enjoyable if you take off the broom that’s stuck in your fucking ass. It took me five years to appreciate beer for its real value.  


But I was pretty sure I wasn’t sick only because of alcohol, and the idea only of putting something in my mouth brought back the sudden disgust for everything.  


My love for the cold hours —from 4 to 8 am on a winter period— struck back in and I looked at Eren’s dead body.  


“What time is it?” The curtains were drawn, we could barely guess the level of light outside, and not knowing the time made me uncomfortable anyways.  


“Huh— around 6, I’d say. It’s still a bit dark outside but it’ll get lighter in a minute.” He took a loud sip and shifted his legs to bring them against his chest, and he looked like a little kid, like that.  


Jean’s not that different from Eren and I. He’s the one who found this house first, and I’m actually the last one to join in, but we never argued. I consider us as friends by default, more because I never actually thought about it than because we lived something strong together. We barely even talk. We do appreciate each other, though, and Jean went through some personal shit. We all did.  


His parents are rich, but his dad is a Full Asshole. Sometimes that word just needs a capital letter to emphasize the power of it. His dad is a fucking Ass, and sometimes I randomly thank the God I don’t believe in for giving me such basic parents.  


What they all had planned for Jean wasn’t what Jean had planned for himself. That’s why he left. To become independant, grow up. He achieved only 50% of it, but I’m not worried—growing up is overrated.  


Responsibilities lead to quiet depression. We were all born sad and cynic, here, so what’s the use?  


Don’t get me wrong, we like life. I love life. I love this miserable piece of shit life. Once in a while, I even end up having a good time: a beer, a good homemade porn, a song that makes you feel like your spirit left your body, even random eating in the middle of the night. That’s how I enjoy life. Shh.  


I never read Youtube’s comment section. I know where my priorities are. I’m smart.  


I looked at the beer in my hand, hesitated, and sat on the ground behind the coffee table, too low to be called a coffee table anyways. It smelled like cold tabacco and lukewarm beer, but it smelled home.  


“Hey, Armout. I’m thinking about the festival.” I looked up at these words, as I was involved. “I’ve got a few friends around, they got me a respectable amount of merch for the whole two days.”  


I didn’t need to ask what merch meant, because I already knew by the subtle smile on his face what he was talking about.  


“I asked Mikasa but she refused to give me the contact. So I looked around and realized there are many people in this dead-ass town who are awaiting visitors like me.”  


Quietly, I opened my beer, snorted, and Jean spoke again.  


“I got a deal with Marco and we’re switching cars for the occasion. His is slightly bigger and we can bring tents so we don’t have to sleep in the car if we don’t want to.”  


“Come on, Jean, you really think we’ll fucking sleep?”  


He went silent for a moment, thought about it and made it obvious he hadn’t asked himself this very same question.  


“I don’t know, we’ll bring it anyway.”  


“We can’t bring three fucking tents, the car is probably as shitty as Mikasa’s. Three is too much and one is not enough.”  


“We’ll bring two, then. You can sleep with Eren if you want.”  


Eren was closer to me than he was to Jean, and I knew I was going to pair up with Eren if there was a decision to make—it was no big deal. What was, is the fact that I couldn’t picture myself sleeping in a fucking tent in winter, in a huge field full of other stupid people sleeping in their fucking tents in winter.  


“Or wherever you want.”  


“What the fuck, where do you want me to sleep?”  


“Anywhere, you even fell asleep in the fucking stairs once. And on the toilets. And—“  


“Alright, shit, stop. Alright, alright.”  


I cringed at the idea of sleeping in a tent, not because it was dirty or even fucking cold, but because I was too used to my individual comfort to accept other people. I’ve often slept with Eren, but it’s different here.  


I took another sip and kept in mind the “sleep in the car” option.  


After all, I could deal with it: drugs, alcohol and music for 48 hours straight were too precious.  


Jean went upstairs, I turned the TV volume up and cursed everyone for the ridiculous 30 minutes of sleep I had. It’s not a night. It’s a fucking nap.  


I ate cereals around 10 and looked outside through the bay window before crashing on the armchair for micro-sleep in front of Nat Geo Wild. It took me twenty minutes to settle on this channel, and I still fought the urge to change it every three minutes.  


Eren woke up in the late afternoon and the stomachache had left its place to an annoying need to close my eyes and die. There was the usual 40 min of waking up during which he ate, and I ate more, and we sat in the kitchen like old people wondering what to do with their lives. We didn’t talk much. He talked more than me, at least. Answering felt like the worst kind of effort, the same you get early in the morning when people stupidly consider 8 am is a good time to have a lively, boring conversation.  


At some point, Eren went upstairs to change his shirt and wash his face and when he came back, turned the stereo on and plugged his phone in.  


“Turn your metal shit down, Eren, I can’t even hear myself thinking.”  


“That’s stoner rock.”  


“Since when do you listen to stoner rock?”  


He shrugged like it was no big deal, and I tried to recall the last time I had witnessed him listening to good music. Eren does not listen to good music. That’s everything but normal.  


I knew it was hurting his pride, but he turned the volume lower anyways.  


“Levi introduced me to good bands and classic rock. He’s a pro.”  


Yeah, and who the fuck is Levi?  


“He’s got good speakers in his car and blast that shit full volume. That feels amazing.”  


“I’m not gonna take the risk to sound like your mother and ask you who Levi fucking is.”  


Reversed psychology or not, Eren did not need a clear question to answer to this, and he went on by himself as he let himself fall on the armchair next to me.  


“Levi’s one of the racers I meet at Nanaba’s. He’s always here when he has some free time, which is rare, because he’s got a full time job.”  


“Oh, what does he do? Deals drug? Sells stolen cars? Black market maybe?”  


He frowned like I was an idiot of some sort and shook his head. I was joking, bitterly, maybe, but still joking—yet Eren sitting here and talking about this guy I had never seen felt like the most ironic thing. I didn’t doubt that Levi existed, and I knew for sure Eren wouldn’t lie from his own about something so cheap and meaningless, but I couldn’t help irritation from popping up and my jaw from contracting.  


“No, he’s a cop.”  


Well, that’s something I didn’t expect.  


“He’s a cop and he does illegal racing.”  


“It’s not…really illegal.” My turn to frown, both because Eren didn’t sound convincing and because that Levi guy didn’t seem hundred percent honest. “And he’s not going to tell anything anyway. He’s one of the most influent racers, and he created this thing. Everyone who respects cars respects Levi.”  


Levi, Levi. In a minute, I knew more about Levi than I ever knew about any friend Eren could have had, and I’ve always suspected him of not having that many friends. Eren’s not a friend guy. He’s not passionate enough to do this maintaining thing, call once a week, hang out, buy shit and care for each other. Eren’s a loner. He walks alone and hardly tolerates.  


“How old is he?”  


“I don’t know. Around thirty, maybe more.”  


“So instead of getting wasted at generic parties you’re hanging out with a dude twice your age. Nice.”  


“Don’t be jealous,” he threw and slowly shook his head again, like it was starting to amuse him.  


He grabbed a cigarette on the coffee table in front of us and stuck it between his lips, but didn’t light it. He just leaned against the armchair and breathed calmly as I watched like an obedient kid. I didn’t care answering because I knew I’d end up getting angry for nothing, and I didn’t want to give Eren such a satisfaction.  


I didn’t have time to answer anyway, because he got up and rushed to the kitchen. I heard the familiar sound of the fridge getting opened and closed again, then Eren appeared with two cheap beers in his hands.  


Might be called an alcoholic at this rate, right? Beer at night. Beer in the mornin’. Beer in the afternoon, and if boredom is your friend, beer in the evening. Repeat to death.  


“Here, stay hydrated.”  


“Fuck off,” I said, but I still took it.  


“You’re welcome.” He sat down again and remove the cap before throwing the bottle-opener at me. “You know, I was thinking.”  


“Oh, thinking? About what? The size of your penis? The color of your piss?”  


“No, but that would make good talk. No no I was thinking about mundane shit like…shaving your toes.”  


“Shaving your toes?”  


“Yeah! Like, who the fuck actually admits it? But we do, right? We do shave our toes, nobody just acknowledges this fact. It’s like masturbating. Everyone knows that everyone masturbates, but no one is willing to say the fucking words and admit it with their own voice.”  


“That’s because society thinks it’s a sin. ’S why people like to pretend they’re all saints and going to fucking heavens.”  


Eren took a loud sip and his silence confirmed my words. If Eren doesn’t argue, it means he agrees.  


He was about to open his mouth again, but someone knocked on the door at his second syllable.  


We looked at each other with sheer horror because none of us were willing to get up and open the fucking door. Probably was a neighbor complaining about the music, or generic people wasting other generic people’s lives with ads they can’t just leave in the mailbox. I hate life.  


After some time, I sighed, ready to go, but Eren was faster than me.  


“Alright,” he said, but the irritated tone was too familiar for me to feel guilty.  


I jerked my head backwards and listened to the guitar sounds as Eren opened the door, and it look longer than expected. After the ten regular seconds, I began frowning and jerked my head back again.  


From where I was sitting I couldn’t see the door, or Eren, but I made an effort to listen and before I could even concentrate, Eren appeared with a half-amused, half-annoyed smile. What—  


“There’s someone for you. Get your fucking ass off the couch and maintain your pretty social life.”  


That’s a fucking joke, right?  


I felt the need to precise my social life hadn’t been active since eighth grade, but sudden curiousity popped up and I shut up.  


Eren sat on the couch again and pretended to watch the TV, which was stupid because the music was too loud to even try. He looked somehow irritated, but determined to stay silent, and I dragged my naked feet to the entrance.  


“Armin?”  


That clear, contained voice was familiar, and it took me only two seconds to guess who she belonged to. I walked past the coat rack and Hitch was there, standing on the porch with a grey, winter-ish background behind her.  


“Yep,” I said stupidly, because I didn’t know what else to say.  


I was in sport shorts, wearing Eren’s titan sized white tee, and I didn’t want to ask where the four different stains on it came from. My hair was already greasy and my eyes were bloodshot, too pitiful eyeballs popping out like a cartoon character. That’s what you get drinking and staying up like the loser I am.  


I briefly regretted not jacking off last night, at least this technic knocks you down for eight hours minimum. Sometimes though, you’re too horny and you wake up an hour and a half later, the Southern Hemisphere pleading you to organize a sweet round 2.  


“Hm. You look…” She searched for a word, spat it back in her throat, chose another, but didn’t say shit.  


“Enter,” I cut her off before she could ruin the moment, if there ever was a moment.  


I backed off to let her in and closed the door behind her. We exchanged a quick look before going in the living room, and instantly, the music felt overwhelmingly loud.  


You don’t realize when it’s been like for two hours, and when it’s been like this every fucking day of your life. I mentally apologized to Hitch’s eardrums and after spotting Eren’s dead soul sitting lifeless still on the couch, chose to take her upstairs. What the fuck was his problem?  


Jean was still in his room, but I doubted he was still sleeping.  


Hitch pushed the door, entered, and I prepared myself for a sound of disgust—or a forced smile, at best.  


She didn’t do anything.  


She just looked around, put her backpack down in the middle of the room, and approached the wall on which random pictures of the group were scotch taped.  


“Why are you here?”  


This sounds like me being a bitch, but it didn’t sound that rude to be honest. Hitch didn’t care, obviously. She turned towards me, a hand on the wall, and sighed like explaining her presence here was an effort she couldn’t make.  


Quickly, I tried to guess why, and she took her time to examine myself as I did the same with her.  


She was wearing some kind of fur coat, beige and brown, and surprisingly enough, it suited her. Underneath it, she had a short black dress similar to what Mikasa would wear in a basic party at Reiner’s, and cracked black see-through tights—her hair was messed up all around, it looked dry and damaged, the obvious black make up on her face was starting to fade away grossly, and she had worn out lace-up boots.  


She looked like a female version of me, coming home after a particularly toasted night at someone else’s, and it made me slack.  


“I’m not an easy girl, you know,” she blurted just when I thought she’d give an explanation. “I just know what I want.”  


It made it crystal clear.  


She liked me or, at least, wanted me to like her. I casually scratched the front of Eren’s shirt and realized how gross and messed up we both looked.  


“Okay.”  


She looked at me, so still I thought I had said something wrong —and god knows I hadn’t said much— but she pivoted on her heel and got to the bookshelf by the window, before resting her elbows on it.  


I walked to her and looked outside too. I looked at her hand, then I looked at her concentrated face and tried to figure her out.  


Did she want me to do something, right now? Did I have the fucking permission to do it?  


I waited, and she returned my gaze with two curious eyes. She looked amazingly awake for a girl who’d just came back from a party. She probably fell asleep in the morning and woke up late, then helped cleaning. Or just woke up late. Who wants to clean semen, cig ashes and vomit?  


I looked in her eyes and saw the mysteries of a boy meeting a girl. I thought about sex in a swimming pool, sex in a car, sex—sex. Sex everywhere. Sex anytime. Just fucking, amazing, mind-blowing sex, and empty alcohol bottles scattered all around.  


Hitch was like me, she was fitted for this crap life, this 2$ lifestyle. I even dared to think she liked it better than anything else.  


So what comes next? A kiss? A french kiss? Blowjob, and cunni in return? Fifty fifty? What the fuck, that’s something Yahoo Answers didn’t teach me.  


I imagined us drunk getting each other off in someone’s toilets at 4 am, and heat came to my lower stomach.  


Hitch took off her shoes and her coat, and I sat at the edge of my bed. I felt something climbing up my bed behind me and didn’t bother looking, knowing it was her. But I didn’t expect the surprisingly warm fingers that met my neck. Soon there was a whisper against my skin and I closed my eyes.  


What are you doing? my mind asked. Not loud enough. Did I even fucking produce a sound? My lips are sealed.  


I felt her lips brushing my skin and my heart somehow beat faster, I wasn’t used to it, lord I wasn’t even used to talk to people. Then kiss? Have sex? Please give me directions. Send a fucking user manual.  


But I wasn’t panicking, for the valid reason that Hitch knew exactly what to do and how to do it, and she had enough experience and common sense for both of us. Meanwhile, I zoned out.  


It felt great. Not comparable to anything. It’s sweet. And warm. And slow. My body got hotter and my muscles relaxed.  


“Where do you apply perfume?” she asked, quietly, like a murmur.  


Eren’s music was so loud the bass sounds were rhymthing everything. It’s like the fucking walls bounced without moving.  


“In my neck, why?”  


“I thought so. Your neck,” she started before approaching my neck again, and her arms slid on my torso before completely wrapping my upper body, “it smells good. Like traces of it.”  


She was talking close to my ears but so softly I had to fight back the need to close my eyes. I wondered if I would fall asleep in such a moment and since I came to the conclusion I was totally capable of it, decided to keep my eyes open.  


“What are you going to do?” I asked.  


“What do you want me to do?” she replied.  


Truth is…  


I didn’t know.  


I craved physical touch as she was offering me the sweetest preview of it, but I didn’t know what I wanted exactly. I just knew what I didn’t want: it to end.  


By the time I felt like answering, she was talking again.  


“Can I stay here tonight? I don’t wanna go home.”  


“Home Shit Home, right…” I said, lazily, because she was kissing the small ounce of bare skin between my hair and the back of my ear. “Sure.”  


Her voice had this casual tone, like nothing was a big deal, like nothing could ever matter, like even considering it was a waste of time she couldn’t tolerate. Yet, she also had this kind of mysterious tone, full of promises, of whispers and warm touch.  


One of her hands slid higher on my chest and at this very moment, she kissed the oval muscle linking my neck to my shoulder. My eyelids felt heavy, and I let out a long sigh, as if letting go of the frustration of an entire lifetime.  


And just like that, she straightened up, her hands softly touching my sides like she didn’t want to fully let go of it.  


“Where is the bathroom?”  


I looked at the pale hand with flaky black nails, and tried to understand what she liked in me.  


“The door next to the stairs. Don’t open the one at the end of the corridor, it’s Jean’s, he’s most likely master-bating or walking around naked. Or both.”  


She chuckled behind me and shifted.  


A kiss on the cheek, ghostly and light, and she climbed off the bed.


	6. the one with the music festival and subconscious voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go the music festival and shit is starting to get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, the only thing I want right now is to go to a music festival and live life like they do.  
> Also, I feel like everything I've written about in this chapter is Eren wanting to get off/getting off. Well.
> 
> The irony is that I realized while writing the second half of this chapter that a music festival is taking place two blocks from here.
> 
> [mh418](http://mh418.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

Living with other people, like everything else, has drawbacks. It’s like two neighbours going to the same place at the same time, and going together by default just because it feels more polite than walking on the opposite sidewalk. Living with other people is quite the same thing. It’s not about having friends by default, it’s about private life, about not having the choice when it comes to closing the toilet door, and being forced to talk to anyone who feels like talking. Of course, you can tell them to fuck off—Eren usually did. To Jean, at least. I guess it’s a matter of education, because I never could bring myself to ignore anyone.

Hitch, oddly enough, felt like this one person who waits for you to speak first just so you don’t have to feel forced to do anything. If you don’t talk, she won’t talk. For some, this causes a daily nightmare, because empty conversations and awkward blanks; but I didn’t mind at all. This girl who looked like the chaos after the storm was calmer than she gave the impression to be, and I ended up enjoying her presence by my sides.

We crashed on the sofa for an hour or two, skipping through channels and watching tiny bits of shitty shows before skipping again. Eren had stopped his music and somehow disappeared, but I didn’t care enough to either ask Jean or send him a message. I was sure he wouldn’t answer anyways; if you can’t find Eren, it usually means he doesn’t want you to find him. Around the edge of the night we decided to order pizza, and neither of us mentioned the fact that there were still empty, greasy pizza boxes in the kitchen. When you’re twenty-one and trying to sort out your life, eating pizza feels like the thing to do.

When the delivery guy arrived, we paid him and took the box upstairs, having silently decided it would be more comfortable to eat on my messy sheets than on the tiny old couch. Hitch closed the door and I put the box on the ground. Like two girls at a sleepover just about to chat and speculate about local rumors, we sat on each side of the box, but didn’t say a word. She opened the box, took a slice, I took another, and we ate in some kind of default silence.

Like Hitch remembered I was there, she turned to me and I felt her knowing eyes staring without shame. Her face looked tired, exhausted, drained by thoughts, false hopes and failed attempts at doing something good; but her constant smile would somehow erase it a little, acting like a distraction to bring the eyes elsewhere. I wondered how many guys she had kissed, how many wanted her to do so. I wondered if I did.

“You still have your shitty job?” she asked, amused, like she was trying to prove me how crappy life was—which was something I already fully knew.

“And you’re still in this shitty town,” I replied. Fair enough, she thought, and slightly nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, we’re both losers. Want to add something?”

“How come we’re so afraid of leaving our wretched, miserable lives here when other people travel to the opposite side of the planet and stay there without any regret? Can you leave your family, friends, childhood memories, your roots just like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

I took a second to think about it and weighed the pros and the cons of leaving. When it came to our town, the pros were pretty fucking good.

“Nah, it does. It’s human. If you go somewhere and figure out life’s easier there, then why bother coming back? No one would. Don’t be a masochistic asshole.”

She humed thoughtfully and ate the corner of her slice as I watched distractedly. I knew by experience people like her were often being mistaken for idiots, for parasites with low self-esteem and minimum wages because of their —of _our_ — lifestyle choices, of our clothes, of the king of beer we buy at the supermarket full of housewives, fourty year olds divorcees and pre-teens trying too hard to seem older. But I also knew Hitch was full of surprise; I could almost see the gray matter activating itself inside her head. She’d think, constantly, and ask questions about life, questions no one ever asks because they’re either too afraid of finding out the answers or too stupid to ask themselves so questions at all.

Hitch deserved so much better. She deserved a good job with a good pay, a comfortable appartment and proper alcohol to get drunk with, she deserved a good, caring boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever; yet I knew it wouldn’t be quite right. People like Hitch, people like me, they don’t end up with big houses and clean lives. It wouldn’t be enough to make us happy. Yes, Hitch deserved so much better—but she wouldn’t get shit.

“Where is Eren?” The question brought my attention and I stared back at questioning, curious pupils. Thing is, I had no idea.

“Bothering someone else, I guess. If not, he probably took the car he legally can’t drive and went somewhere he can cry about his life choices without no one watching.”

“You’re going quite hard on him, aren’t you,” she stated before leaning against the edge of the bed, already feeling home.

I really wasn’t, after all, if I was the tortured one and if Jean was too stupid to feel miserable, Eren had to be the unhappy one. Sometimes it would feel obvious, too obvious; almost painful to watch. His cracked smile and his tired eyes, battling to stay open—they said too much. If Eren wasn’t here, then he definitely was somewhere where he could alone and think about how miserable his life had become. This would be quite a lie, of course, because there is no turning point, no “becoming”, our lives didn’t go miserable all of sudden: it has always been this way. You just grow up to realize it.

I wasn’t sure Hitch would understand, because she didn’t really knew Eren that much. She didn’t know me either, on the other hand.

“He needs someone to reassure him, but he’s too proud to ask. Thus he stays alone.”

This explanation felt shorter and precise enough, and Hitch didn’t question it. Somehow, though, we kept talking about him, just like a rented movie or a vague high school souvenir.

“He doesn’t have much to be unhappy about. I mean, he’s smart, for a young guy, and he has skills. There’s still hope. Plus, he’s quite attractive, don’t you think?”

Her smile said it all—an amused, young smile like a kid talking about forbidden stuff. There was no point denying it.

“He is,” I said.

And he really was.

Maybe I was just biased because I knew Eren from a long time, maybe I couldn’t see him in a different way because I was used to it. But if Eren Jaeger was anything, he was attractive, in some shy and quiet way, with his mischievous smile and the melancholic eyes of a child who grew up too fast.

“But none of us really do have much to be unhappy about,” I went on. “We’re all smart, skilled and attractive in our own ways, and there is still hope for any of us—we just don’t care as much as we should.”

I knew for a fact Eren didn’t care. Maybe he didn’t think there was hope, or maybe he got used to the idea—either way, he cared more about an _Alien_ marathon and barbecue flavoured chips.

Hitch nodded, and changed the subjet as quickly as she had introcuded it. Not that she intended to, it seemed like her personality. I didn’t fight.

“We should hang out sometime.”

“Aren’t we hanging out right now?” I teased with a knowing smile, and she smile too.

“Sure, but it’s different. It’s in your house, it’s comfortable. Hanging out is an effort, it’s dressing and going outside and driving and talking to people.”

I cringed and made a disgusted sound, followed by Hitch’s light laughter. The house was quiet but my room had never felt so lively.

“Where do you wanna go next, huh? A fast food, a convenience store, the video games shop I work my ass off in?” I wasn’t being serious and she knew it, but after some reflexion there wasn’t that many places to hang out. “Sometimes Eren and I go to this skate ramp not far from here. That’s usually where Mikasa wants to meet. It’s cool, once the sun sets everything gets dark around here and the place gets tranquil.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

I turned to her, heart beating from the surprise, and my lips parted without quite knowing the answer. Was I? Either way, she kept her bright, teasing smile and she got up before I could give an answer. I guess she didn’t care about the answer, because she knew everything already. There was no acting, no false words or fake smiles, everything we were doing here had be done for a reason and she knew exactly what it was. It was just a question of time before we’d kiss, fuck and never talk to each other again. The fact that Hitch admitted, acknowledged and accepted it made me feel oddly light.

She removed her dress, leaving her wild blond strands even wilder than before, and for a second I wondered if the time had come, if we were about to fuck just right here, right now. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl who wasn’t Mikasa undressed right next to me. She didn’t turn to me and told me to get naked, though, and my eyes followed her as she wandered around, her high-waisted tights stopping in the middle of her back. Her skin looked soft and smooth, but I was too lazy to just get up and touch it. I’d get a taste sooner or later anyways.

“What are you doing?” She offered only her back and I thought she wouldn’t answer, but she opened my wooden drawers one by one, and stopped at the third.

“Searching for proper clothes.”

“By proper do you mean socially acceptable or _clean_? I'm afraid you can't get both. Hygiene is overrated.”

Hitch gave me a look from above her shoulder and rolled her eyes, knowing which one I was talking about. Still, the thought didn’t bother her as much as it should have, and she took a green t-shirt out of the drawer like it was a normal thing to do. I perfectly knew she had been through my underwar in the first drawer, I perfectly knew she had examined it although it was obvious there was no shirt here. But strangely enough, the thought didn’t disturb me. It’s not like Hitch would really judge—the color, the patterns, the smell or how clean or dirty it seemed; really, she didn’t give a damn.

Someone honked in the street and she put the shirt on. I had gotten this shirt during a spring holiday in high school, where I had to work at a fast food to get some money. I was really young, but they’d take anyone because someone has to do this job. The purple logo was still visible on the right corner or the shirt, and on Hitch it almost looked genuinely pretty.

“My parents hate fast food. They say it’s the symbol of consumption and capitalism, when really it’s just cheeseburgers and greasy fries. Who cares.”

“Who cares,” I repeated in agreement.

She sat on her knees in front of me and the sudden proximity unsettled me for a second. Not that I did mind, I just wasn’t used to it, and Hitch would act so nonchalantly about everything, like nudity, upsetting subjets and taboos were nothing to her. She put her pale hands on the knees I had brought close to my chest in a laid back reflex, and we both stared at each other.

This time again, I wondered if we’d do anything, if we’d kiss. She just tilted her head to the side and somehow it ended up on my knees, offering me shaggy hair and the opportunity to show some tenderness. As if it was exactly what she wanted, I started stroking her hair and after a few seconds, started more playing with her hair in a distracted, childish manner than really stroking anything. She didn’t complain, she didn’t move. There was no sound.

“I don’t know where Jean is,” I said uselessly, because it wasn’t nor interesting, neither important. “Probably running after Mikasa or trying hard not to send a text.”

“I was sure there was something between these two,” she replied thoughtfully from elsewhere, her voice trapped in a smaller place. I couldn’t see her face, but she looked calm, relaxed, and the conversation went on as such.

“It’s not quite something, it’s more like Jean pining and Mikasa appreciating the affection. I doubt they ever kissed or talked about personal shit. Even if they were to be together, it wouldn’t last long.”

“Why do you say that?” She didn’t sound offended, or frustrated, it was a curious question like any other.

“Because no couple ever lasts long. We live in a society were mariage is more of a tradition, a stupid convention than a thing with a meaning, and more than fifty mariages on a hundred end up with a divorce. This shit costs money, time and energy. What’s the point?” I looked around, breathed out. “Mikasa doesn’t believe in…stability.”

I couldn’t quite tell how I had started with Mikasa and Jean and ended up talking about mariage, but I felt Hitch’s cheek softly rubbing against my knee, only sign of agreement she could give.

“Have you ever been with anyone?”

“No,” I replied. “Never.”

After a second, she went on.

“You sound like someone with a broken heart.” It was half an amused statement, half genuinely saddened words.

“I’m just being realistic.”

“I like _realistic_.”

Hitch breathed out deeply and I noticed how serene we both were. In a life sprinkled with anxiety, there wasn’t much more pleasant than this very moment. At first sight, Hitch didn’t look like the type of girl you’d chill with in a stinky room and dirty clothes—more like the girl you’d fuck in public toilets and get drunk with in a tranquil park at night. Truth is, with Hitch, you are most likely to do both. Or was I privileged?

“Have you?”

“What? Been with someone?” She waited, I assumed she was thinking about the answer, and finally, she sighed softly. “I guess, yeah. Not that it ever worked out or is worth the words couple or broken heart. But yeah, in the sense that I’ve already been stupid enough to think it could last, I have.”

I braided a tiny strand and she played with the material of my shirt. That’s what we did.

I remember playing video games I had borrowed from the store and laughing stupidly like two drunk teens, and then—then nothing. Then, I remember staring at the ceiling and someone breathing against my arm. It felt warm, it felt right. I was okay.

There was no one, no one knocking at the door, no one calling on our phones; we were left alone in a shouting world and a moment of peace looked like an exhausted dream on a lazy afternoon. At some point, I assumed she was sleeping, because none of us had spoken in a long time, and I got up carefully for a quick run to the bathroom. I took a wild strand away from my face and tugged it behind my ear before splashing water on my face and waiting for the waterdrops to run down my cheeks like passive tears. Then I wiped it and stared a little, as I’d always somehow do.

It’s not that I’m particularly content with myself, not that I do like to look. Yet I always felt like I had betrayed the little boy I once was. And I’d stare, I’d stare because I was curious of what I looked like, of what the others would see on my face, how unamused I was—wondered if it showed. It’s quite a fact: I’m not the person I had expected to become, or hoped, at least. But these aren’t flash news, after all, who doesn’t, right?

And then, finally, I thought of Hitch, of what would happen when I’d come back in the room, when she’d come back another day. Would we ever meet again? I felt like it was a probability, way higher than any other; where I would usually only barely care, I was half-hoping. The idea of a couple unsettled me but I also fully knew there was no need to panic, because, firstly, it would be useless, and secondly, it wouldn’t be a couple at all. A duo, maybe, a team—but there wouldn’t be romantic diners with candles and red roses; no sunset speeches and bright jewelry; no long nights on the phone trying to prove the other you care the most; no hysterical conversations about who cheated first. In the end, there would only be sex, and silent smiles, and peace.

We all wanted to haunt someone’s thoughts once. Didn’t we? We all wanted at one point to be the only person to exist, the only thing he she’d see, no matter what, when, where. This is quite a selfish thought to have, but affection grows on you like wildflower and it doesn’t leave, it makes you stupid, naïve, selfish and careless. Sometimes, it’s for the best, sometimes, you become crazy.

If you’re lucky enough, it will fade away. Someday.

I remember wanting to haunt people’s thoughts, but no one in particular. Mikasa’s, Eren’s maybe, but by pure possessive reactions—no, I wanted to haunt people’s thoughts because I wanted to exist through them, Lord knows it’s the only way.

These do not matter anymore.

Hitch was still lying on the bed in the same exact position I had left her, and in a different lightning her pale body would have looked dead. But she shifted a little and I caught large eyes wide open, staring at me with nothing to ask. There was nothing to answer, thus I said nothing and went back to the bed where I belonged.

She shifted again to leave more space and we ended up staring at the ceiling again, assuming none of us had ever fallen asleep. Our forearms would brush when she’s lift her hand to move away some hair here and there, pushing it back on her head—and when she’d place her arm back, I would shiver a bit in pleasure. I liked the touch and she liked it too, I know it because she figured it out one time, and blindly searched for my skin to brush against again. There was no word, no cheesy phrases, no forced smiles. What we didn’t want to do, we didn’t do.

It didn’t feel like the right moment to put my arm around her and I didn’t feel like doing it either, because it was one of those moments where it’s perfectly comfortable and sweet and all you wanna do is stay here forever and wait for death to pick you up.

“Why me,” I asked because I had nothing else to ask. I wanted to know anyways, not that I needed—but I wanted. Curiously wanted.

“Why not,” she replied. It made sense.

After some time, she got up in a half-sat position and gave the slightest smile.

“I don’t feel like I’m wasting my time when I’m with you.” I wanted to nodd, but somehow the order got lost between my muscles and my brain. Hitch didn’t think about it much, and I had no reason; we were just two people stumbling upon each other, and deciding it would be good to stay that way.

When I opened my eyes again, it was four in the afternoon and since there was still her fur coat on my chair, I assumed she’d come back. At four in the afternoon, when you wake up, you either want three things: to eat, to piss, or to masturbate—the most common being the three of them altogether. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel like anything, and ended up sitting on the toilet for five minutes before deciding shit wouldn’t come out. The kitchen was only filled with dirty plates and half drunk glasses at every corner of the room, abandoned drinks looking miserable.

I scratched the waistband of my underwear and made tiny circles with my shoulders to wake me up, and when something cracked a few meters away, I assumed it was Eren. I kept staring outside from the kitchen window above the sink, and waited for him to speak if he felt like it.

Eventually, after taking something in the fridge and sitting on the edge of the counter, he did.

“Did you?”

I knew what the question was, and his half-sleepy half-careless voice made everything even more obvious. “No,” I said.

“Loser,” he said. For a second I imagined myself pivotating and telling him about my first time, enjoying the weird stares and the curious smiles. Truth is, it wouldn’t make me feel different in any way—I’d keep scratching the waistband on my underwear and staring outside.

Expectations always equal disappointments anyways.

“Did you?” I asked back.

“Did I what?” he mumbled grumpily, like the sudden question was enough to feel hateful.

“I don’t know, did you do shit. You disappeared last night.”

There was a pause during which nothing happened, he chewed something quietly and I looked at him above my shoulder. Eren was wearing his old red shirt and it suited him (I had always said red was his color). I was wearing a worn out, comfortable sport pants on my layers of underwear and dead skin, and no shirt—but Eren was in his black underwear only, and I noticed I didn’t care his ass was sitting where we’d eat. I didn’t care about many things actually.

What disgusted other people left me still, and I’d always wonder why they’d make such a fuss about nothing. We all know you have morning wood, that you secretly like _The Simpsons_ , we know you once cried in front of that very disgustingly cheesy movie in which no one even died, we know you like fast food more than you should. It’s okay. No one cares. Just fucking admit it.

“I was out running.”

I glanced, “Liar.”

“I met Levi.”

This time I didn’t reply and looked outside. It was still gray for this time of the year but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, for staying home on this kind of day always felt more enjoyable than the others. On sunny days, dying from heat on your matress feels like the thing to do, but staying on your couch all day? It feels like wasting your time. On days like this, staying on the couch all day felt like the only thing to do. And it truly was.

“Right, your friend Levi. Give my greetings next time.” I turned around and decided I wasn’t hungry.

I walked around the kitchen island and the weight of his gaze followed me bitterly. I couldn’t remember when something went wrong, it it had been yesterday evening, or if we had just woken up like that. Sometimes it’s better to just accept and embrace it. To stop fighting.

For a moment I thought he’d ask a quick, falsely amused, “You don’t like him, do you?” but we both knew I’d simply answer that I did not know him. He stayed silent and I almost hoped he’d open his mouth and provoke me.

He didn’t.

I met Jean in the corridor upstairs but we both silently agreed not to say a word and I entered my room like someone breathing air after hours under the surface of the water. And yet, it didn’t look that fresh with those empty glasses everywhere and too many books sprawled on the floor here and there, just to make sure I’d trip and break a leg or two. The curtains were shut, there was barely enough light to distinguish the borders of the furniture, but I was okay with it.

Almost by reflex, I thought of my mother and how she used to leave the whole house lightened everywhere because, she said, light is a good thing. Philosophers call it truth, designers call it space, and people like me call it something they don’t want to see. It’s obnoxious, in a way or another. I imagined my parents walking into this house, into my room, and gulping nervously, horror and curiosity contradictorily bumping into each other in their chest.

I missed my parents more than I missed my childhood but I didn’t want them to come back in Chicago. It’s not that they didn’t belong—they’d belong anywhere, just like air or shy sunrays at the end of the day. Some people just want their parents to be proud of them, and I personally was convinced I hadn’t achieved anything in my entire lifetime. Say whatever you want, it still sounds like failure at its highest point.

Around five o’clock I began to hesitate between calling Mikasa and calling Hitch, before realizing I didn’t have Hitch’s number, and didn’t really want to talk to Mikasa today. You shouldn’t force yourself to talk to your friends when you don’t feel like talking to your friends—unlike what people think, that’s exactly how you lose them. But, no surprise, for people are wrong about most things.

Thus, out of boredom, I pushed open the door of Eren’s room and waited for any sign of surprise, anger or sheer panic to be caught red-handed, but Eren was there, sitting in the middle of the room, on the ground, with his laptop next to him.

He was smoking, and there porn without sound playing on full screen. It didn’t look like it did care about it, though, and I entered cautiously before closing the door behind me.

Eren offered his cigarette, I felt like accepting the gift, but changed my mind; and he shrugged before taking it to his lips again.

“Don’t you have a job or something?” he asked absent-mindedly, a weird taste left on his tongue.

“Or something.” I sat on the ground one meter away, examined the surroundings. Eren’s room looked like any other banal day, messy, dirty, stinky; yet oddly pleasant to be in. “I’m too tired to get off and too distracted to sleep,” I breathed out as an excuse, and he didn’t say anything for a moment.  
My eyes settled on the black screen, bodies moving messily in pure silence. Watching porn without the rest of the sensual experience is quite something, and generally, for guys like Eren, it’s not entertaining enough to lead to anything but passive, secondary lust you put aside for later (or just ignore).

“What about the music festival?” I asked as they changed their position. There was no tenderness, it was pure, physical, professional sex; get closer and you can see the vague reflection or dollar bills in their eyes. “You know, the thing Marco told us to go to.”

“Sure, sure.” He put the cigarette in the ash tray without stubbing it out. When I looked up, lazy green eyes were gazing back at me. “We’re leaving tomorrow evening.”

“That’s all? When did you plan to announce it?”

Eren shrugs, and I fake a laugh. This bastard wouldn’t have given a heads-up for the world.

I swear to god. For a second, I imagined the three of us stuck in a dusty car, too tiny for so many talking skeletons, spending three days like the rest of ours—in the dirt, loudly, and probably not in a mature way. Ideally, girls, music, alcohol and girls.

“What do you think, should I bring a small pipe or a water bong? Or maybe three pipes? I’m a good friend. Three pipes? Or rolling paper. No, everything, let’s bring everything.”

I watched as he kept talking to his lonely self, wondering then if he’d bring socks, peanut butter, sunglasses. One thing was sure, he wasn’t going to bring socks; he barely had enough four days old socks to wear at the moment. Curiously, I looked at my own feet and moved my toes under the differently coloured socks.

Four years ago, I would have complained of receiving socks for Christmas. Nowadays, socks make a great gift for a twenty-something, broke and soon-to-be college dropout loser.

“Did you ask Mikasa to join in?”

“Oh sure, and she accepted to spend the trip on the car’s roof. Because, you know, it’s already _fucking full_ , goddamnit Eren.”

I sighed and put my palms on the ground, my fingertips meeting the soft material of his dark green carpet. Like I was there, he took his cigarette back and took a long drag, before slowly shaking his head.

“Look at that shit,” and he pointed his chin at the computer screen. From here, I had a plain sight of an ass pouding another ass, whoever it belonged to. “ _Bam, bam_. I don’t know their names but they’ve been going at it for at least twenty minutes. Sometimes,” he said, “I look at that and wonder if I’d be the tender type.”

“The tender type?”

“You know, if you go slow or all the way. If you feel like taking the time or three minutes take or break.”

I didn’t mention the fact that there were people able to do both, stay tender and fast at the same time, people who’d last an hour on full speed. Whose fault is it? Stamina? P.E. classes who never taught you to breathe correctly? Ten minutes and you’re already sighing like a buffalo.

No matter what people say, sex is a sport, indeed. Getting paid for it is only a bonus some are willing to get. Must be a good life, I thought. Having sex and being paid for it. Paid for pleasure, for receiving and giving back pleasure. Orgasm three times a day, loud enough, not too soon—and they’ll give you the right amount of green bills.

Being a pornstar isn’t more degrading than working at Erd’s shop for practically nothing. Not that I was showing up a lot, though.

“Shut up, you’re a virgin.”

“So are you,” he fought back with a frown, yet not quite sure of his own words.

“What do you know? Perhaps I’m not—perhaps I never was.”

“Come on, I know you,” he insisted, but I could feel the doubt in his voice. He wasn’t smiling. “You’d be different. You’d _feel_ different. Shit, you would fucking _tell_ me.”

“Maybe,” I said, but I knew he was right.

We stayed right there, on the floor, talking about the crappy weather or the sound Jean would make when he’d eat too much, or Mikasa bringing knives to school in fifth grade. After ten minutes, the porn vid came to an end, Eren had a semi; but he didn’t press replay nor did he choose another one. And soon enough, the screen went black.

“Are you gonna get off?” I asked. I tried to sound neutral, but the words in my mouth sounded weird. Not that it was the first time we were talking about masturbation, since it held an important place in Eren’s choice of subjects.

“Why? You wanna get off? You wanna get _me_ off?” he teased, and showed me his teeth.

“Dickhead,” I shook my head, and got up lazily. “I need to go before I feel the need to get off as well. You fucking wanker.”  
I walked to the door and he didn’t move.

“And, Eren,” I called back as he looked up, a thin strand of hair falling on his right eye. “About the type of sex you’d have, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t last long.”

I smiled genuinely, proud of the way his eyebrows fell on his face, and he held high a middle finger in my direction right before I’d close the door in a laughter.

“Go fuck yourself, Armin!” he cried out from inside, and his voice faded as quickly as it had hit my ears.

 

 

 

 

I was sure Hitch would come back to get her things, but she never came. At first, I thought she had forgotten, maybe she didn’t even know in the first place—but then I remembered I was talking about Hitch, and it would be stupid to assume she had done either. If she wasn’t there, then she didn’t want to come. I’d wait.

The following day arrived as boringly as the previous one, and I decided to go to work for four or five hours in the afternoon, knowing fully I had nothing better do anyways. Erd was leaning against the counter, acting like he was forced to be there, which only was half of the truth. I felt like asking shit, asking how things were going, asking if he was okay—but our eyes met and I held back.

That would have been hypocritical anyways, because I didn’t really care. Not enough, at least.

Erd asked me to help him in the backroom and we sorted huge boxes of video games for an hour or two. He said he wanted coffee, sighed like he was trying to let his soul leave in the same breath, and we both agreed we needed a pause.

I went outside to smoke, even though I didn’t really need or want to light a cigarette. I hated the sensation, to be honest, the way the smell would just go everywhere and you couldn’t escape. I remember me as a kid, telling my mom I’d never smoke. What a big fucking lie, right? The worst is, I didn’t even _like_ to smoke. I leaned against the dirty wall of the shop and as Erd came outside, his phone pressed against his ear, I wondered if anyone really did enjoy smoking anyways.

The street was silent, since it was around the end of the afternoon. The sun was setting but we still had a good solid hour before the last sunrays would disappear completely, yet there was no one outside. Where the fuck were people?

There was no sound, and I ended up accidentally catching up on Erd’s conversation. He was nervously walking in irregular small circles on the other side of the shop doors, and didn’t seem to care for my presence, thus, I looked to the side and kept listening.

Long story short, it wasn’t a good day. For Erd, I mean. My day was just fucking blank, there was nothing to make it great, nothing to make it lousy. I just existed. Drag after drag, I followed Erd’s phone conversation like you’d watch a tv show whose title you don’t know and don’t fucking care about, and when he sighed one last time as he ended the call, I turned my head in embarrassment.

It’s not really in my habit to sneak on anyone to hear about someone’s lame existence, but did I really have something better to do?

I stubbed out my cigarette with my feet and we went inside without a word. For another hour, we kept doing the same boring thing in the backroom, knowing perfectly there’d be no customer to welcome. In a sense, that was pleasant, because I wasn’t in the mood to fake a smile and be polite and thank people for fucking coming here. With Erd, at least, I could be my self and wait for the end of the day.

Which actually came quite fast, and as I waved a familiar hand towards Erd and got a light reponse from him, I realized tonight had to be great. Not that it had to be great, but it would probably be.

Sure, the thought of three days with two idiots in a place full of other people and absolutely zero intimacy, it sounded oddly unpleasant—but I could mentally get off to the thought of going somewhere. Of driving and breathing fresh air in the middle of nowhere, because really, that’s where we were going.

We were heading to a bigger town, but the music festival was taking place in an enormous field, with a huge stage, the equipment, speakers everywhere, cables in the grass hidden there and then, wooden tables for drinks and other use, and a big part of the field exclusively devoted to the campground. Cars, trailers, tents, there would be everything, and I realized as I left the shop that I didn’t know if we had enough tents. I wasn’t even sure we had any.  
But, whatever. So be it.

I had prepared myself for it. Mentally. I could still piss in the bush, sleep in the car, get drunk in the open air with good music all day, all night. Three _fucking_ days. The best probably was, in this kind of event, you can let your dirty, immature, unreasonable side get the best of you. People don’t care, because that’s why they came here in the first place. Don’t fucking tell me all of those guys came here for the music.

Music is 50% of it. The other 50% is full, absolute, pure debauchery.

When I came home, both Jean and Eren were crashed on the sofa, sprawled all over, watching a dumb cartoon because they’d probably lost the remote. I put my backpack on the ground, went in the kitchen for a glass of water, but found an open beer on the way; I smelled it, and it smelled like a beer left behind a whole afternoon.

I drank it anyways.

In same houses, you have water bottles or orange juice everywhere, well, here it’s beers. You can be sure there will always be one in the fridge. And if there isn’t any, then we’d probably just go to Connie and Sasha’s and steal theirs. Beer isn’t even _that_ good. But it tastes like something you like to drink, because it’s beer, because beer means the lifestyle you have fucking sucks. Beer is the fucking a family father can’t drink on a Sunday afternoon, beer is what _we_ drink after waking up.

“When are we leaving?” I asked when I came back in the living room, the almost empty, lukewarm bottle in my hand.

Eren, on the armchair, vaguely looked at me, looked at the beer, then back at me again, but shrugged. I couldn’t see Jean from where I was standing, only tiny golden strands of hair going in all directions, and his voice came to me like a choked mumble.

“Not now.” I skirted the couch and sat next to Jean, felt his slack body melting. “We’re waiting for the night to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because driving at night is fun.”

I didn’t ask for more, because there was no use, not with them.

“Who’s going to drive?”

“Me,” Jean answered again. “Because that’s my car.”

I assmued we’d settled on Jean’s car and also assumed Jean would be our driver for the trip.

 _It could have been worse,_ I thought as I imagined us taking Mikasa’s _Peugeot_.

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans and I lazily took it. Whoever thought they had to send me text didn’t understand where my prorities were; I never answer to anyone.

 

_From: Eren_  
_my left ball is itching_

 

Well, almost.

I wrote back “fuck off” or a close variant, and when I looked up, Eren was staring back. He didn’t look angry, or sad, or happy—he looked like someone who woke up from a nap without really knowing what day, month, year it is. He looked like he was trying to sort out his life and get his shit together.

Trying, only.

I mouthed another “fuck off” and Eren’s face responded for a short second. Then it went blank again, and then he smiled. A lazy, careless smile, the one you’re not forced to give but give anyways.

We all watched the cartoon, then the cartoon that followed, and the one after, and when we checked the time, it was around 9 o’clock. Time flies when you turn into a vegetable, isn’t it. That’s why you wake up at twenty-one years old and wonder what you’ve been doing with your life all this time. Answer: nothing much.

Eren packed his things in backpack and so did I, and I didn’t see Jean for a whole hour. I stared at my laptop, ridiculously dead on my messy sheets, and thought I’d miss it probably. Somehow, though, I knew I wouldn’t have time to be bored, and if I did, then I’d get bored in a cool, productive way. You can’t go to a music festival and wait for it to end, right? Where you’re going, no one is gonna let you get bored. Everything is a bit crazier, and you quickly make friends when you’re sleeping in a car.

It’s only when I threw the last sweater in my backpack that I realized I’d miss school the day after, and probably the following days as well. I was so fucking lost I didn’t even know when I had class, but to be honest, I didn’t care, and decided I’d just miss these classes like I so often did.

Eren called Nanaba, Jean called Marco but he didn’t answer, and I was there, wondering if I should call anyone. I didn’t have anyone to call. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I had more than three contacts. I thought of calling Mikasa, then calling Hitch, and wasn’t sure I had her number anyways. Eren went outside, Jean went in the kitchen, and I was left behind in the middle of the living room.

So I took my phone and searched for Mikasa’s name.

 

_From: Armin_  
_Can I give a call rn?_

 

It took around a minute to get an answer, and I felt lighter.

 

_From: Mikasa_  
_Sure, you have 2 minutes_

 

I pressed call and it rang two or three times before Mikasa answered. She instantly breathed into the phone, and I wondered what the fuck she was doing. I wanted to ask, but she asked first.

“So, are you stuck in the car with the two assholes?”

“Not yet, that’s why I’m calling you.”

“To tell me your last words, right. Do I bury or incinerate you? Are you an organ donor? Heart, eyes, skin? Balls?”

“Leave my balls where they are.” She laughed lightly and curiosity struck again. “What are you doing?”

“Come on, did you really call to ask me that?”

“Well, yes,” I said, and after several seconds, she sighed and gave up.

“I was helping Sasha.”

“Sasha? Wait, you’re at Sasha’s right now?”

“No, no,” she hurried, and I assumed she was shaking her head. “We’re at her workplace. I had nothing to do, since, you know, I kinda quit? So I offered my help.”

“To Sasha?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sarcastic tone, to show me how ridiculous I was.

“Okay, sure. Have fun. Don’t kill anyone.”

“I’ll try. So, when are you leaving? So I can tell the police the last time I saw you.”

“If Eren and Jean stop calling their girlfriends, then we’ll probably be gone in twenty minutes. If they don’t, tomorrow, at sunrise, at best.”

She laughed again and I almost regretted that Mikasa didn’t came with us. Everything would have been lighter, funnier with her. It’s not that she’s that light or that funny, but the way she handles things makes everything more enjoyable. She’s mature, but she knows how to have fun; and that’s exactly what I loved about her. You could see her dead serious, about to punch you in the face, or gently offering a freshly rolled joint. She had zero rule.

Mikasa asked about my day and I told her everything, from Erd’s broken heart to how many times I pissed. Then I asked about hers, but something covered her voice all of sudden and she apologized before ending the call. Last words: have fun.

_Sweet._

At times, I thought of Mikasa as my mom. Not that I really wanted her to be, but it was her words, the way she’d act towards me. You know, all protective, tender like. She’d let me do whatever, but she’d still tell me she’s worried. Which made all the irony, since Mikasa often did the most dangerous shit in the group.

It was almost ten and we all threw our backpacks in the car. Jean sat on the driver seat, Eren went on the backseat, and we filled the left space with shit. In other words, plastic bags full of alcohol, tissues, thin covers and Jean’s sweatshirt. In the trunk there were the backpacks, two tents Eren had borrowed from Connie, a few packs of cigarettes and I recognized Eren’s hookah coming out of a green back. Fucking hell.

I felt like complaining to Eren for the useless space he was taking, for the sake of it, but held back, since I knew I’d probably smoke with him in the end.

I don’t know if people bring a fucking hookah to a music festival, but Eren didn’t care. As for me, I’m wild, and only brought one pair of socks, because I figured I wouldn’t remove my shoes except for drunk adventures in the middle of the night. I didn’t have more than a pair of socks in my drawer anyways.

We stopped at a gas station shop, because the food is cheaper there. Surprisingly enough, we all looked at one another and made a silent agreement of buying more alcohol. That’s how Jean ended up buying three bottles of vodka, Eren three six-packs of beer he couldn’t even hold in his arms, and I bought a huge bottle of whisky and enough chips for a week. After paying, we settled in the car and I realized we should buy one or two bottles of water, and went back inside with the most awkward expression. I felt the cashier’s gaze on my back when I left for the second time.

The trip was around two or three hours long and we’d make regular pauses to piss and smoke against the car, and, you know, breathe some fresh air. We stopped three times and the last one felt unreal: Eren was asleep on the backseat, and Jean and I went out to stretch and complain about how fucking deep the night was.

We started to feel like we’d arrived when the traffic got slower and slower, until we couldn’t drive anymore. It was probably one in the morning and I was starting to feel the weariness kicking in, but the excitment of arriving kept me awake. Ten minutes, and the cars spread; we followed the road we thought was the right one, and five more minutes later, we arrived at a fucking giant field full of cars and people.

And it was so lively, holy shit. The festival wasn’t supposed to start during the night but early in the following afternoon, which would leave enough time to drive here, get some sleep and prepare everything. Personally, I wasn’t sure I’d sleep tonight. I wasn’t sure I’d sleep at all.

Some guy asked us the tickets and Jean presented them through the open window, before he’d give it back to us. Jean put it in the glove box and we drove around searching for a place to settle. The whole zone was marked out but I noticed how easy it would have been to just come here without a ticket. Definitely was some kind of local festival with a low budget and not-so-famous bands. Eren was still asleep, and despite the noise outside, we tried our best not to wake him up.

Jean found some space in the middle of the field, and the fact that we were surrounded by people didn’t seem to be that much bothering, not as much as I thought it’d be anyways, because they all seemed to share the same kind of fierce excitment. You know, they kind of vibrated. They gave off the energy I needed.

“Do you wanna take a look around?” he suggested.

I checked backwards, Eren was sprawled on the backseat, one hand curled around the belt. He didn’t look like he was about to open his eyes. So I turned to Jean, and nodded.

“Sure, why not. Are you coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” he replied like it was obvious, and frowned for ten solid seconds. “Hey, hand me my sweatshirt before we go.”

I did, and he put it on in a second. We didn’t bother rolling the windows up or locking the car, and that’s what struck me the most. We didn’t bother doing shit, because it looked ridiculous to even doubt—it was safe, for we all were in the same bag. No one came here to steal, they all came here to get drunk for three days straight.

“That’s fucking dark, holy shit,” Jean said, but I did like the darkness we were walking in. “That’s smaller than I thought, but definitely cooler,” he added as a guy sitting on a folding chair opened a giant beer with something I didn’t see. He was bald, wore a snapback, and looked fucking ready.

“Do you think Eren will panic when he’ll wake up and notice we’re not around anymore?”

There was a pause, then Jean turned in my direction and I saw the sneakier smile on his face.

“Obviously, he’ll do. Whatever, he deserved it.”

I remembered Eren being annoying for a whole half an hour, asking where we were going, when we’d arrive, where we were right now. Non stop. On repeat. And nodded again.

“Fair enough.”

“Look at thaaaaat,” Jean immediately went on as he stared at two girls on the left, and kept watching as we walked past them. “Jesus, thanks Marco!”

His eyes cried pleasure but I knew it wasn’t exactly perfect. I mean, _sure_ , Jean liked girls, and even a man who’s entirely devoted to a particular girl will always have some physical affection for the others. That’s nature, what can we do? But Jean, Jean wanted Mikasa to be here, because he was fully aware of the fact that such a setting would make her lighter. I regretted not inviting her even more. But we didn’t have enough tickets anyways.

“This one’s cute. Don’t you like her?” he suggested as his chin pointed out a tiny brunette on my right.

I didn’t need to look closer to see he was right. Even though, she wasn’t my type.

I started laughing out of the blue, because this was going so fucked up. Loud music, alcohol, and probably more than that; maybe even sex for some. I wondered if Eren or Jean would ever have their first times around here, on a dusty backsweat, in the bushes, against a fucking tree, whatever. When I looked back at Jean, he had turned into a happy puppy. It was his element.

Something exploded on our right and we both jumped at the same time. Then, someone shouted “ _fuck off, asshole!_ ” and I laughed as Jean lifted his eyebrows. It came out of the darkness, we didn’t even fucking know what that sound was, but we didn’t care. We loved it.

We walked for some time to get to know the surroundings, and discovered public toilets in a tiny building whose walls were tagged from the top to the bottom. It smelled like piss, but it would make a nice photo.

Jean made a stoner friend on the way back by asking him what type of shit he was using. I didn’t follow the conversation, just stood around awkwardly, waiting for Jean to come back like a kid waiting for his mom in a supermarket. Eventually, he came back, and I wondered if I wasn’t too shy for this type of event. I mean, not that I’m really shy, I’m just, you know, _quiet_.

But did I really need to make friends? I had Jean, and I had Eren, and that was _more_ than enough.

People were being there, sleeping or smoking, or drinking, or seating on their passenger seats with the radio on and looking at the sky. Others had their tents settled and slept in it already, not caring about the noise everyone was making.

“How many do you think are having sex right now?”

“Too many,” he said and made an exagerated face. “Hey, did you talk to Mikasa today?”

I said yes.

“How is she?”

“She’s good,” and I shrugged. This kind of conversation never lead to anywhere. And then, I felt suddenly annoyed with Jean not making any fucking move ever, even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea anyways. “Why don’t you fucking ask her already?”

“What? To kiss? To fuck in my bedroom full of old cigarettes and dirty underwear? To get involved in a relationship? Come on, you know better.” He paused, looked at me, and his expression changed. “Why don’t you fucking man up already?”

Fair enough, I thought as I looked away because I knew what he was talking about. And it had a name: Hitch.

Eren was wrong, it wasn’t punk bands. It wasn’t punk at all. Jean asked, and people answered that it was an electro thing, with Glitch Mob-like bands, and basically, just trap, dubstep, and all the loud shit that makes you feel drunker than you actually are. During the day, three bands would switch every two or three songs, and during the night, the craziest shit would climb on the stage and even though I didn’t know how many bands there would be at night, we were assured it didn’t matter. And, suddenly, I had a craving for the following night to come.

We went back to the car and Eren was sitting in the backseat, still, but the door was open and he was smoking a cigarette, sprawled on his own backpack.

“Hey, fucker,” Eren greeted Jean as we arrived. He sounded bitter, but not enough to be angry about it.

“Nice to see you’re awake,” Jean teased back with a proud smile, and I shook my head to myself.

We opened the trunk to get our shit, and Jean set the tents on the ground. For ten minutes straight, Eren and I watched as he tried to put up the tents in regular anger strikes and desperate sighs. He didn’t ask for help, not only because he was proud, but because he knew we wouldn’t help.

Eren opened a bottle, and drank it for three minutes before bothering offering it to me. I hesitated, then thought there was no place for doubt in such a crazy place, and took it.

As far as alcohol goes, this cheap alcohol tasted like shit, but my expectations were low enough for me to enjoy it.

Around two in the morning, Eren got a boner. He didn’t notice it, at first, I think he drank more than we’d seen him drink. When he realized what was happening, he tried to hide it and blushed, covering his junk with a shy hand like people really did care. I noticed, and he looked at me with an oddly innocent gaze, but I didn’t say anything.

I fell asleep on my seat before I even could.

When I woke up, it didn’t seem to be that much later, because it was still the middle of the night, fucking deep and fucking dark. Eren wasn’t in the backseat anymore, and Jean had put up the tents. He wasn’t here, either, and I assumed he probably was in one of the two.

I searched for Eren for five minutes, before deciding to go to the public toilets. I hated public toilets, and didn’t particularly feel the urge to piss, but wanted to explore anyways. Maybe Eren had the same idea.

When I approached the tiny thing, I could distinguish the different colors in the tags all over the walls, and the ghostly yellowish blue neons didn’t feel as scary as I thought. There was no door, and I entered; a small corridor was split in two. Women and men, as simple as that. I went to the right, where the men’s bathroom was, and when I entered, there was no one. No one here, in this overcrowded place, but one silhouette standing in the middle of the room, as far from the toilets as he was from the sinks and mirrors.

Eren was there, leaning against a dirty wall that faced the door and wall behind me. He didn’t see me, first, and the horror struck me so violently my heart stopped for a second. Eren’s head was desperately pushing against the wall, and his face looked in pain—but his hands, his hands were fucking working his cock like there was no tomorrow. His pants were stuck around his ankles and I froze there, unable to think.

Should I leave? Or take it lightly? I looked away, or, I tried—but at the very same moment I was about to, Eren’s eyes caught mine and something terrifying happened: he held the gaze. He kept staring back, fiercely, with is lips moving in silence like he was trying to hold back moans and grunts. He didn’t blink, he didn’t look away, and I felt like pissing myself.

I avoided looking at what was happening below, I mean, him, because no matter how close Eren and I were, we’d never shared something this intimate before. That’s exactly why it’s fucking called intimate. And he stood there, his back arching against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, and I feared that he’d misinterpret my presence here. What the fuck was I doing here anyways?

His eyes had something deeply frightening. It wasn’t the color, darker than it should have been, but the strengh it held, like it simply refused to look away; like it didn’t want  _me_ to look away first. Or dared me to do so.

Eren was hard. And he was close, I could tell. I could tell because you can always recognize this moment when it’s just a matter of seconds, when it’s only a few moans away. I recognized it because that’s my favourite part. That’s the part I’m always waiting for. It kicks the air out of your lungs from the anticipation and the overwhelming pleasure that wouldn’t stop growing bigger and bigger and bigger.

“Eren,” I let out in complete panic, because nothing made sense and I was regretting every second I was wasting, standing there like an idiot. My feet were glued to the ground and Eren wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t fucking stop, and the sounds were too real, and I couldn’t escape.

He opened his mouth again, but to answer this time; but nothing came. And then, as violent as my surprise had been, a moan came to my ears and my organs froze in my body.

He closed his eyes.

I opened mine.

First, I saw the glove box, and the cars through the windshield. It was louder.

Then I turned my head, and my neck hurt. And I spotted Eren, laughing wildly three meters away, Jean screaming at him like it was the only thing he was alive for. I stared, relieved and shocked at the same time, I stared as Eren moved around to dodge Jean’s punch, and I stared as Jean tripped on his own feet and fell to the ground, buried by Eren’s crazy laughter.

I checked my phone, I had two texts from Mikasa, it was four am.

I closed my eyes, sighed.

_Holy Shit._


	7. the one with the roadtrip and connie's swimming pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting drunk with friends is fun, until it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, I'm fucking sleep deprived.
> 
> Wrote this in a rush, in two nights with several weeks in between. Struggled for the words, because I'm not a native, and thought of jumping off the window a few times. Listen to something calm and deep for the pool scene. I love pool scenes. There will be others.
> 
> Good news, though: the fun is starting. Shit is getting messy, random, and fucking embarrassing.
> 
> [mh418](http://mh418.tumblr.com) on tumblr, I'll gladly receive asks and others. The playlist to the story is [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/7vv8je72e58wBE5yVo5f82).

If you want to get your life together, then you must start with the details that have been tickling you quietly for weeks or months. Put some tape on that poster that’s been threatening to fall since last January, finally buy some new socks so that the colors match, maybe take out your trash so you can start slam-dunking dirty tissues from your bed after you pathetically masturbated to german porn.

Maybe, watch that movie people have been telling you about for years, just to have the pleasure to tell them how shitty it actually was. Maybe, get a girlfriend. Maybe, maybe, just fucking leave your fucking bed (start by changing the sheets, you’re disgusting).

The music festival was ending and ultimately, we had to go back home, which none of us really cared about. We were glad to be here, but we were glad to leave, just like having a friend over and denying the guilty relief of seeing him leave the day after. I can’t blame you, because I’ve been this type of friend all my life: a slut for attention, for company, but not selfless enough to erase myself for more than ten hours.

Perhaps it was the reason why we were all silent on the way back home, each of us sleeping in his corner or pushing his earphones a little deeper in his ears, waiting for the famous rest stops that’d mean toilets, massive food purchase, and the change of driver.

I didn’t drive, for the obvious reason that I didn’t know how, and thus innocently won a few hours to kill on top of it. Sitting on the passenger seat, next to a silent and sleep-deprived Eren, though, I couldn’t sleep.

“Do you think Sasha and Connie used our house to rent our rooms and earn some easy cash?” he asked from afar, and I came back to reality quick enough to seem interested.

“I’d be surprised of the contrary.” To tell the truth, I really would be. Connie had in the past tried some really stupid and easy-to-do things, the kind that naïve, broke people like him watch on Youtube and think, yeah, why not?

He wasn’t hungry for money, he just didn’t see how it would be a bad thing not to like it. That’s how he ended up innocently stealing all the cash in the local camera-deprived grocery store, after the cashier had what Connie had called the best heart attack-timing he could ever have. Just for that, Connie went to the funeral — with the 100 dollars suit he’d bought for the occasion.

 _Soundgarden_ ’s tape was playing in the car and it was both soothing and oddly stimulating. Stuck between sleep and insomnia, I didn’t have much to do other than talking to Eren, did I?

“So that was fun, huh.”

“Sure it was,” he confirmed a bit after, eyes focused on the road. It silently encouraged me to shut the fuck up, but I knew Eren wanted me to talk, so I sighed, leaned on the door, and kept going.

“Too bad we didn’t have a camera to take pictures, right? Like, real old photographs. Maybe polaroids.”

“Yeah but, what could we have photographed? I mean, other than Jean throwing up, you napping in the middle of a concert, me totally shitfaced, and the three of us sleeping on each other with a blunt still smoking in Jean’s hand? Weird shit to put in family albums to show your children.”

I rolled my eyes at the last word.

“Do you want children?”

This time, he took some time to answer. So much that I began thinking he hadn’t heard me, and out of pride, decided to stop conversing. But when his voice filled the car again, quiet and calm not to wake Jean up (childishly sprawled on the backseat with a sweatshirt, boxers and covers), I turned to him as if nothing had happened.

“Eh, I don’t know. I think I’m gonna die young.”

I rolled the window down and enjoyed the fresh air of a very early morning. It was around 6, not much on the road, not much in the car, and the waking lights calmly appearing at the horizon were enough to soothe us. Blow Up The Outside World came on, and I turned the volume up as the beginning was soft enough for Jean’s sleeping ears.

“Like, in a car accident or an accidental overdose. Or some shit. Maybe killed.”

He did look serious, and didn’t look my way, so I stared at him in thoughtful silence. I knew for a fact he was sincere about everything because we had talked about this one time, although I couldn’t quite tell when. I remember how we’d shared the same fears, that crippling horror of not living enough.

Living to the fullest is quite hard, though, it’s not like anyone can do it. Most of time, it’s ironically your friends and family that keep you from doing that. From quitting your job, from leaving the country, maybe win the lottery, buy an old car, have a threesome, make a roadtrip on the route 66, and getting drunk in abandoned houses, officially presumed haunted. And you know why? Because they tell you it’s good to be reasonable.

They tell you it’s good to get a job, to marry a pretty girl, have children, spend your whole life being someone you’re not and don’t want to be. They make it seem like you don’t have a choice, and that makes you want to leave even more.

As much as Baudelaire was afraid of time and its dangerous effects, I was fearing the day I’d see a sunset for the last time. This thought regularly came to me, mostly when I’d look through the window: I’d see trees, late sunlights, maybe a distant sea and a lonely road, and I’d think, can I stay alive for this?

None of us added anything and I ended up absentmindedly looking at things; outside, or the clock on the control board, or the doorknob, or Eren’s neck. Eren had a long, pretty pale neck, that made all his height. A little bit taller than me, but still smaller than Jean, he looked thin and lacking strength, he looked like he never ate enough.

We stopped at the next rest stop to take a ten minutes break, and as Eren grabbed himself to find his cigarettes, alone before the shop, I slipped my sleep-deprived body in a morbid cabin of the public toilets. And, even more pathetically, I began masturbating, shivering both from the cold and from the frustrating sensation of intimacy after days of infernal mental arrousal and abstinence.

Let’s not talk about the wet, desperate dreams I’d had.

I bought a cookie without washing my hands and swallowed my own saliva in a wild attempt to ignore how gross I was being. And, back in the car, the door open to let the air in, I realized I wasn’t hungry.

Something grunted in my back and I shivered.

Jean, barely awake, was moving under the messy layers of clothing and homemade covers. The idiot had stripped before sleeping, but this early today, it felt fresher than planned. Looking in the rearview mirror, boringly, I offered a palm, the small round cake gently resting on it.

It took some seconds for Jean to understand where we were, what day it was, and what exactly I was trying to do by communicating this way. He took the cookie without a word and kept grunting uselessly for a minute or two. Then, he took a bite, moved around, and I watched curiously as he tried to his dirty socks back on.

Eren approached, and without me noticing, leaned on my door with all his weight.

“Hi there,” he greeted like a stranger, probably enjoying this cigarette more than he should have. He was supposed to get coffee, but I knew pretty well he wasn’t going to do shit. “Did you kiss our Sleeping Beauty? It finally woke up.”

“Not sure it knows how to communicate, though,” I added with a shrug as Jean palmed himself with a sigh, lost in the difficult task of finding his smelly stuff. He looked tall and lanky in his messy clothes, but his tired, freshly awoke face looked really good to me.

It’s a thing, I guess, that I’ve always done. Liking faces better when they just woke up. Everything is more real, more direct; you can see eyes tearing a little, searching around, eyelids stretching patiently as every bit of skin wears the trace of whatever was used as a pillow. But, then again, the three of us have the same look no matter when. That’s what makes the difference between adults and us.

No one here uses brushes. Jean barely changes shirts.

“Do you want something at the store?” Eren asked, quite distantly, and I wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

Jean didn’t hear him, and I brushed it off with another shrug, so when Eren came back to the car, he was only holding a new pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of Coke.

He drove longer than originally planned, as Jean wasn’t getting out of his sleepy haze on the backseat, looking absentmindedly through the foggy window as he lazily leaned his cheek on his closed fist.

Eren turned the radio down, then Jean started speaking, and in the distance, I could hear Eren replying with an obvious smirk. When Jean’s voice came again, I was already asleep.

But as I had expected, more than twenty minutes of nap would have too much, and I ended up opening my heavy eyelids as if it had been the most difficult thing to do so far. It pretty much was. Even long after waking up, I was still feeling the weight of sleep crawling underneath my eyelids.

None of them talked to me, they didn’t care, neither did I.

After a while, Eren turned to me, quickly between two billboards, and he smiled.

I tilted my head, and without forcing it, I smiled back.

Jean’s hands crawled in my hair right after, and I turned so quickly everyone heard the violent sound of my shoulder cracking.

“Fuck off, Jean!” His laughter filled the car and full of good intentions, Eren’s gaze, a little amused, watched over us from his place.

The house hadn’t changed a bit, it almost felt like we’d never left. And it felt so good to come back home, that I had to fight the urge to run upstairs and slide under the covers to die silently.

Jean’s first reaction was to turn the TV on, and I headed to the kitchen with Eren, holding random stuff in my arms. Plastic bags full of food bought on the way, pillows, clothes everyone had somehow shared, shit that belonged to the trash, and a backpack that certainly wasn’t mine.

The mess appeared a minute later, but it was a good mess. That was nice. It was nice to be here.

Maybe that’s the lazy, quite antisocial part of me that was so relieved to come home. But I couldn’t say I was the only one, as Jean started conversing with himself from the living room, adressing whoever would care to reply. I looked at my phone, soon to be dead, and as I realized it was only ten in the morning, I embraced the extra relief of knowing Connie wouldn’t arrive here randomly, sitting in the counter as he’d loudly ask obnoxious questions nobody would want to answer.

It was too early for Connie, way too early. Is there an hour that isn’t too early for him anyways?

“So what are your plans for today, sweetheart?” Eren asked lightly with a feminine voice, and as I watched him calmly tidy the room, he really looked like a mom.

“Absolutely nothing! Dude, if you dare making plans for tonight, I swear I’m gonna strangle you in your sleep. I’m not ready to meet anyone, for a week at least. I’m ready for any kind of interaction.”

“Are you gonna call Hitch?”

I stopped in my tracks, turned to him with a frown, then sat on the corner of the counter.

“Why would I? She’s not my girlfriend.”

He nodded to himself, in silence, and mumbled some useless reply to the void.

“Hey, could you…” he started, but as your eyes met, he went quiet. I was about to ask what, and he gave a tired shrug. “Never mind.”

“Do you think it’s reasonable to leave Jean alone in a room?” I smiled, remembering all the fucking things Jean had done at the festival. The nightmare of any parent.  


“Fucking not,” Eren laughed, hands deep in a bag. The fridge bipped, opened for too long, and Eren closed it with a foot. “But what choice do we have? I’m not accepting him in the kitchen, house of the knives, forks and…”

“Spoons?” I suggested, cutting him off with a smile.

“Alcohol,” he corrected and rolled his eyes. “Can’t be worse than back there, though. I knew we were going to bring some fucking drugs, but who would have thought it was so easy to get free stuff at any time of the day? It only encouraged him to smoke everything and get more.”

In the middle of the festival, late at night, when everyone was off to sleep and the shittiest bands were playing before everyone would leave, Jean’d had a bad trip. He’d started shaking badly, making it seem in the beginning as too much alcohol and not enough concentration. It only took us thirty minutes to freak out, and two hours for him to calm down. The worst thing about a bad trip isn’t the paranoïa, or the irregular spasms that make you tense as fuck, it’s your inability to do something about it.

Everyone know Eren would never let Jean forget how lame that was, but I knew Eren enough to understand how scared he had been. In all honestly, Jean had been lucky. Of course, no one would talk about it in such terms, because both Eren and Jean were too proud to admit they’d fucked up.

As for I, I had never participated in any stock-filling, being the only one of the trio using everyone’s things instead of getting my own. It would have felt hypocritical to make friends only for such a purpose; Eren didn’t mind me using his shit.

Surprisingly, though, I had found myself more drunk than high, although often both; and the very unpleasant memory of myself throwing up in the public toilets was still disturbingly clear. As if it wasn’t enough, those were the very same toilets I had dreamed of, imagining Eren touching himself with the will of a beast.

That had been quite a disturbing thing for me, too, but I had never talked about it. To anyone. Talking to Jean would equal repeating it to Eren immediately, and talking to Eren was out of question. Not that we weren’t close enough to talk about those things; to tell the truth, I was almost sure he’d enjoy such a conversation. Eren liked intimacy, sharing private things, it would always make him seem closer to his friends. Well, to me, if not Mikasa.

I just wasn’t ready, somehow, to engage the conversation. It had never felt like the good time, and I never had the good words; I was stuck, repeating the pieces of dream my mind hadn’t forgotten yet. If it had been realistic and frustrating, though, Eren would never act this way.

That’s what kept me stuck in reality, convincing me such a thing would never happen.

When Mikasa arrived a few hours later, when the sun was starting to retreat itself above the horizon, she threw my door open without any sign of warning, fell on my bed with a smile and as I woke myself up, she said we were going out. I didn’t ask if Eren was going, I didn’t ask if Jean was going, because I couldn’t bring myself to ask anything as the only thing I wanted to do right now was to go back to sleep and hopefully never open my eyes again.

We went alone; the place was a tiny garage that both lacked lighting and a bit of cleaning. The walls were of stone, the furniture strictly appliances, and I turned to her in irritation.

“I thought you were too good to hang out with the losers. I’m sorry to break it out to you but this place sucks.”

Then a half-dozen of people moved to the side and someone started cheering loudly. There was a wheelbarrow in the middle of the room with a cheap, dirty hookah in it. We stood there for a while, awkwardly scanning the surroundings with the tired hope of finding someone we’d appreciate, which we failed so brilliantly that I wondered how could Mikasa ever be invited at such a low quality party. Was it a party, even?

We refused a couple of doubtful drinks and ended up stealing a beer can before leaving, and that appeared to be the best decision of the night.

Then Eren sent a text but I gently ignored him, knowing perfectly the attention I was ready to give him would only eat up what I was keeping for Mikasa.

Instead, I told Mikasa how we’d been sleepless and crazy for a few days, so much that we’d happened to meet cops on the road to the local supermarket, piled up in Jean’s dirty car that gladly smelled of drugs. I told how we’d manage to get away with it, with Eren’s smooth lies and Jean’s ability to distract and pull away from a conversation. I told her about the guy who’d pissed in the tent, and how we’d had to gather in the same tiny tent for a night, nameless hands groping my shirt as I tried to recognize the unpleasant breath I was smelling next to me. I also told her about feeling Jean’s morning wood against the back of my thigh, and how I’d almost broken my legs by jumping off the car’s roof totally shitfaced.

To that, she laughed softly, and leaned in over the tinny table of the retro café we were in. I stopped for a second, reminding me how beautiful Mikasa actually was, with a wild black strand that couldn’t keep behind her ear, constantly falling against her cheek with a scandalous indolence.

At eleven in the evening, we were sitting there like two thieves on a run, eating omelettes and drinking hot chocolate. I had to admit, that tasted better than beer.  


“So, who invited you to this party?” I asked, using my drink to warm up my palms.

She looked up to me curiously, as if the question didn’t make sense. But, eventually, she sighed loudly and a smile appeared.

“Well, if you really want to know, Marco did.”

“Marco? No fucking way.”

“It’s not because he’s smarter and shier than the three of you that he doesn’t party,” she articulated slowly, faking a disappointed smile as she tilted her head to the side. “No actually he just told me about it.”

“He could have been there at least. I mean the guy did invite you to a party. I didn’t know you were this close.”

“We’re not. Sasha and I went to the fast food he’s working at today and he was at the last counter, so when I asked him what he had planned for tonight, he said maybe he’d go to that party in my street.”

She shrugged, and it became obvious she didn’t have any expectations. Maybe Marco had only just talked about it after all. Either way, she didn’t care and the outcome of this disastrous party was for the better.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to party with me, I’m so much fun when I’m wasted.”

I faked a sad face in my turn, and the corner of her lips lifted instantly.

“No, actually… it’s a date,” she whispered before taking a sip of her drink, and I rolled my eyes.

There hadn’t been any romance between Mikasa and I, never, and I couldn’t quite tell why. She was gorgeous, smart and funny; and it looked like she liked me more than she should have according to our personnalities. Yet somehow it had never been an option to neither of us. We were just there, faking a date in a quiet café, waiting for the late night rain so we could go home completely wet.

The waitress asked us if we wanted anything else and Mikasa ordered something to eat. I smiled at the word “couple” tentatively whispered through a polite smile. None of us cared to prove her wrong.

“So, my date,” she started as she brought up a leg against her chest. The leather benches were large enough and she could fit anywhere. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

 

 * * * *

 

Connie and Sasha’s three years appeared as the opportunity to get shitfaced, and we all agreed that alcohols would be the best gifts for both, as they’d certainly serve the common good.

Connie’s that guy nobody fucking understands. Full of odd earrings and facial piercings, his most recent one had been the tongue, and since then, nobody had been able to translate his words. He was that kind of guy growing up but somehow still immature, sometimes in the good way, sometimes enough to slap his fucking face. He was the kind of dude to knock at your door at one in the morning just to talk about the latest gossip, who’s been cheating on who, and who called him a loser. I like Connie. Connie’s always in a good mood. But take or break, man.

The event was lighthearted and full of good intentions, so I didn’t bothered to look as elegant as the day would have required. I wore, what my mom called, the plaid pajamas, which actually weren’t pajamas pants, but loose, plaid cotton pants that arrived mid-ankle. I innocently wore Eren’s 2000 emo b&w shoes, which made Mikasa’s eyes narrow a little from sheer amusement. As for the rest, a basic white tee with a print I couldn’t explain, and for the party side, cared enough to comb my hair with Sasha’s brush.

We went out to a bar in town, a pretty recent one, but in which nobody younger than thirty-five ever seemed to meet. That given, we ended up feeling like the immature, loud kids of the room, which only added to the pleasure.

Because, after all, we were there to get fucking drunk!

Eren had a flannel shirt, that both looked really nice and almost too dressed on him. His wild dark hair was as wild and dark as usual, and he was wearing sky blue ripped jeans that, without any kind of surprise, were too big for his lanky build.

For the occasion, we invited distant friends, that kind that we only rarely see to parties, common friends event, and for those who haven’t dropped out yet, school.

Ymir was there, loud and gayer than ever, and Christa, her long-time crush which everyone knew but nobody sort of talked about, was proudly sitting in the wooden chair next to her. Reiner was next to me, already a little too drunk for the rest of the group, but everyone assumed he had started his night before meeting us. Every minute or two, he’d lean close to my ears and his warm breath would leave a few amused, blurry words he could only barely organize. Then, we had Mikasa and Eren sitting on the banquette facing us. Connie was sitting between the banquettes, Sasha grabbing his arm fiercely without quite intending to, and Jean was on the other side, awkwardly sitting between Eren and Reiner.

Reiner’s occasional proximity made me quite uneasy, not because the guy was openly gay, but because I didn’t like being pressed to a warm, heated body without wanting to. At least, he smelled good — if everything looked virile about him, his smell was even more virile; he smelled of hardcore sports, male deodorants, hot dogs, testosterone, late night masturbation and metal music.

“Surprise!” Sasha shouted louder than the rest of the conversation, which we had lost a long ago.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Reiner added next to my ear, laughing at himself as I understood the joke. I couldn’t tell exactly when and where I had seen the thing, but it sure was on the Internet. What wasn’t? “Hey is it your beer?”

I was about to answer, but then he turned to Jean, who frowned and mumbled something as an answer. Silently thanked myself for avoiding a really embarrassing moment of misunderstanding. Everyone’s lived that very relatable moment of horror when responding to someone’s greeting when not adressed to you.

Reiner farted a little, but the corner pretended not to hear. That’s what real friends do.

His soon-to-be-shitfaced almost monologue kept going, and I listened with a lazy ear.

“Can I take it?” Jean’s voice defended its beer, higher than expected, and as Reiner asked more questions (some, uselessly exactly the same), Jean answered a little bit higher each time, both incredibly offended and somehow pissed. “C’mon, it’s just a few sips… _c’mon_ …” Seconds later, “is it yours?” Eren raised a brow and the same scene repeated itself.

Ymir leaned closer to Christa, whose cheeks were turning pink from the general heat and heavy air floating in the reasonably crowded bar. From there, it looked like two girls who’d end up walking home together, a little drunk and polite as though not totally strangers, and after tripping awkwardly, bringing a whole level of proxmity in the match. Sadly, though, they’d never been as far as kissing on the cheek.

Friends, but somehow distant enough, this longing relationship had left Ymir has a bitter person, couple-hating, and incredibly sensitive about the subject. She wouldn’t take your love advice for the love of God.

Jean talked all alone about nothing, although Eren probably listened out of boredom and deep curiosity. You know, that kind of curiosity that seems unhealthy at times, a curiosity that you don’t entirely desire, that same curiosity that gave birth to the saying.

Invading Connie and Mikasa’s passive conversation, Reiner eventually managed to grab someone’s beer, most likely because Connie was drunk enough due to his already sober hyperactive status and his inability to take alcohol, and gave it to him to be left alone. We all knew the ratio from Reiner’s sound to Reiner’s irritability mixed with alcohol always lead to something bad.

Mikasa’s face was red, and it only took a glance to understand she wasn’t feeling too good. We were having fun overall, but the alcohol was harsh and we were all too animated to finish our plates. Becoming gradually wasted left barely enough space for the rest, and for a second, I thought of leading her outside to breathe some fresh air before asphyxia.

“Right, Armin?” Being called out in a conversation I didn’t know shit about left me a bit irritated, but I swallowed it dry as I forced the words.

“What?”

Just before answering me, though, Sasha left out the biggest belch I had ever heard so far. And given that everyone had been silently brushing off blurps and farts all night long, it clearly was a top belch.

It only took two or three seconds for our whole table to shake vividly, moved around by uncontrolled laughters and loud hysterical sounds. Sasha looked around, trying to figure out if she was embarrassed or amused by herself, and Connie ended up laughing to tears as if it had been the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

He took Sasha’s hand in his, put it before his lips and kissed the back of her warm hand with tender words like he was grateful for every gross blurp she’s ever given. With stunned yet expectant eyes, she looked at him from her side, and Connie kissed her in the middle of a laugh. That was the only trigger needed, and there began a long, breathless collection of french kisses.

Ymir and Mikasa, surrounding them, faked some gross vomitting, and shared a knowing look.

Ymir listens to feminist punk rock from the 90’s, and Mikasa listens to loud, angry rock. They’ve never been too different, in the end, that’s what always made them kind of friends. Two independent, single girls; they had everything to team up and give zero fuck.

It’s not like Ymir did want to be single, though. It was also a weakness to her because, according to her own words, it broke her personality. Made her softer, more attentive, sensitive, reasonable at times. She was aware of things, careful, wished for things that didn’t make sense, when she originally shared my philosophy of not entertaining hopes, it facing the too important risk of being broken.

As for Mikasa, nobody could ever know. She could have been in a relationship for months that nobody, not even me, would had the tiniest guess. I liked to think she’d keep me in the know, though.

I smiled at the loud show going on, bothering more and more people as the thing went on. Then Reiner’s bare ankle brushed mine and I instinctly straightened up.He wasn’t sober enough to notice.

Connie being definitely hard to understand on a daily basis, when sober, turned out without an ounce of surprise to be even harder to understand after what he had injected in his blood. Which was, surely, horribly unreasonable — but we were all guilty.

When the alcohol kicked in, both my several beers and the cocktails I had tentatively shared with Jean across the table, I felt lighter and warmer, and suddenly, it wasn’t about going out anymore, it was about fucking surviving.

Handling Reiner became more and more difficult as he invaded my personal space but talking two centimeters away from my face, and way louder than needed; Eren started arguing with Jean about some tastes they didn’t share, and absolutely desired to prove the other wrong; Connie and Sasha began communicating not only with foreign noises and obnoxious laughters, but also with objects, as they accidentally pushed the table with their moving knees, or made glasses fall, spilling smelly alcohol all over the sets.

It was more or less ten when we’d arrived, all very hungry and excited, knowing it had taken too long to prepare, walk or drive here, and wait for everyone to finally arrive at the right place (if at least not the right time). We’d had the big table in the corner of the room, surrounded by the giant window giving on the empty street, and a big wall of white painted stones, on which a basic, meaningless painting was hanging — and threatened to fall on Reiner’s and mine’s heads, with each violent jerk Reiner would do.

Now, though, it was around two in the morning, and Ymir was starting to get tired, I could see her left eye closing a little bit as she’d drift away from the conversation, losing control over her body and mind. It didn’t make the others any less louder, that being said.

It’s Mikasa who invited me to go outside for a minute or two, and we headed out of the bar without covering ourselves. It wasn’t that fresh, and we were used to it.

“This reminds me of high school, getting drunk so pathetically, trying to make it classy by dressing pretty and getting more expensive alcohol than supermarket’s.” She paused, laughed a bit and tilted her pale face. “What are you wearing, by the way?”

I instantly stopped any move going on, and turned to her with a serious stare. “Why? You don’t like it? I like it. It’s detached.”

“Maybe _too_ detached."

“Mikasa, I usually wear _sweatpants_.”

She shrugged.

“Hey, Armout,” she called out like she’d usually do when a bit drunk. “Remember that time when we were kids, when I said I’d marry you someday because we were made for each other?”

“Yeah, I remember you were pretty wild that day. You made the neighbor’s kid cry.”

“As usual,” she shrugged again, making it seem like it was nothing — and from and for her, actually, it really was nothing. “What I mean is, you know how Eren got really jealous over that childish promise? All that time I thought he was jealous because of you, because, you know, you were stealing me away from him. I was like his sister.”

Patiently, I waited. We both somehow gazed up the sky and looked as much as we could what was looking right back at us. Stars, distant night clouds, a shy moon barely lighting the streets more than the creepy neon lights…

“He actually wasn’t jealous because of you, but because of me. You were his bestfriend. He loves me, he really does; but he feels like shit without you. Now I understand why he was so mad, and why ignoring me for days seemed so childish to me. He hated me for stealing you away, for keeping you for myself. He thought he’d have you, always, exclusively reserved for his self.”

Silence arrived and I remember that fact I’d read on Facebook, saying a silence was awkward after four seconds. But the four seconds had passed, and I wasn’t feeling shit. I was just there, sitting on the steps before the bar, Mikasa snuggling by my side to get some heat, toying with a cigarette she wasn’t sure she wanted to smoke.

That, often happened to me. I’d look at my cigarettes, but then, think that each of them would get me closer to my death. I only books only romanticized death, saying it’d happen anyways, that we all had our ways of being self-destructive, acting as a ticking bomb that’d blow up a day or another. But I was afraid of death, I really was; of not living enough, of getting sick maybe, leaving this place with pain like all the previous things had never happened.  


Each time, I’d ask myself, do I really need this cigarette?

My grandma had been a great, long-time smoker. That’s also why she ended up having a throat cancer, both because of cigarettes, more dangerous than addictive at the time, and because of the constant alcohol she’d drink at the end of the day. Maybe that ran in the family, after all, because that was exactly what I was doing. If that was the case, though, I’d surely die, like her.

Everyone wants the easy way, dying in their sleep, painless, without a sensation. You’re dreaming, then you’re gone, and that’s all. Simple, quick, human. The truth is we don’t get to choose how we’ll leave, just as much as we didn’t have a say in how we arrived. It just happens.

“Why, though? Why are you bringing this up?”

“He might be too drunk and too proud to tell you right now, but I know he thinks about it. He just got a job, he’s tasting what an adult life is like, and maybe thinking you won’t stay in the same house forever. Not that he’s planning to leave, he’d tell me, and I know he’d be too scared to anyways. Just… you know. Growing up freaks him out.”

Doesn’t it freak us out all? Isn’t it exactly why we’re getting drunk in a shitty bar in the middle of nowhere, far from our disappointed parents, dropped out schools, unfinished homework, neglected plants and broken toilets? That’s called: running away from our responsibilites. Yeah, I know, it’s also celebrating Sasha and Connie’s third anniversary.

“Now he’s watching Hitch flirt with you openly, and I guess he’s going through that same phase again. He’s always been jealous when it comes to his family. Believe me or not, he once was jealous that Carla liked me so much. And you’re family, too.”

Mikasa hiccuped and we both smiled hugely, looking at each other with wet, tired, drunken eyes; and shook our heads with nonchalance. I felt light. I always felt light with Mikasa.

Then Christa sat on my right and the three of us talked about Connie and Sasha’s relationships, how amazing yet not surprising it was for them to last so long, placing bets on how fast they’d argue about shit. We agreed that they went well together. Somehow.  


We all left the bar at 2:36 precisely. Everyone emptied pockets and bags to act responsible and we all ended up, Connie and Sasha excluded (I mean, that’s a fucking gift, right?), giving a bunch of change, dollars, and whatever we had on us at the moment. Nobody cared to pay less than someone else, nobody cared to be paid back, we just wanted to leave, and after such a dinner (well, more like binge-drinking), you’re surely careless enough to pay.  


Reiner went home, but it wasn’t planned: as the subject of going home by car or by foot came on, we all agreed not to let Reiner drive his car, and ironically, Bert came to pick him up. He was “driving in the surroundings”. How fucking red, out of ten, did Bert go when we all looked at each other, everyone but Reiner, when his shitty excuse came through the half-lowered window? Fucking eleven.

I mean, _as usual_.

The rest of us went to Connie’s, knowing fully he had a pool ready for us all. Eren played lo-fi calming songs on his phone, hidden in the front pocket of his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up his elbows.

We all followed, lulled by the summer night kind of song, and most of us ended up grabbing someone else both to help us stand and share some tenderness. Eren took Mikasa’s hand, almost innocently, and she rolled her eyes — but didn’t let go.

I went a little ahead, walking backwards as I smiled carelessly. That was, without lying, a really good fucking night. Simple, basic, without pretention, but really good. Maybe that’s why it was really good, even.

Eren smiled back at me like a friend that’d encourage his partner to do some kind of fucked up thing (certainly not a good idea) and we shared a knowing look like we had something in mind. It lasted longer than a normal stare would have, but not enough to become obviously mischievious, or obscene, or unnecessarily dumb.

Going to Connie’s had never been an option, to tell the truth — it was just like that time when Eren had, out of a dare, ironically put black nail polish on, and kept it on for three weeks. I have to admit it did suit him.

Connie talked for ten minutes straight, and no one interrupted him, because no one was truly listening. It’s not that it wasn’t interesting, or that we didn’t care, it’s that we were all too drunk and, to some extent, too tired to try and understand his fucking speaking.

His tongue rolled in his mouth, slipped all the way, ate half of the words before they even came out. That tongue piercing looked really good on him (and really 2000’s), but shit, did we have a hard time talking with him. Some days, it was better than the others, and we could even laugh instantly at his jokes, but the rest of time, added to the usual time of joke-understanding, there was the extra time of decoding his smashed, childish words.

The irony in this was, everytime I talked with Connie, he didn’t understand me either. And we’d have this elder conversation, each of us shouting “what?” to the other, who’d eventually get tired and embarrassed of repeating itself lifelessly, and would mumble some irritated “never mind”.

That happened more often than I liked to admit. Maybe I had a speaking problem, too.

I, out of habit, rolled a strand of blonde hair around my left index. It stayed blocked for a minute, and my finger eventually became redder, but then the hair wrapped itself off the skin like nothing had happened, and I repeated the gesture with another strand until I got bored.

I was leaving the group in the middle of the empty, silent road, and it felt fucking great to have the town for us. From time to time, we’d cross the way of another group of teenagers, drunk and passive, talking either too loud or not at all, missing sidewalks and grabbing the asses of the wrong people.  


Which ass would I have the right to grab? I’m sure Mikasa wouldn’t mind.

Connie came close to throw up, but ended up only spitting in the bushes, and we agreed he wouldn’t drink a gulp of alcohol of what was left of the night. I hated to be that killjoy friend, for the same reason that I hated even more when my friends would be that killjoys for me, but it looked more reasonable, near a car, knives and a pool, to keep Connie on a short leash.

We arrived at the house ten minutes more later. Ymir was feeling tired, although awake enough to annoy the shit out of Jean, and well enough to lowkey flirt with Christa whenever she’d have the occasion. It felt like she didn’t get it, though, and each brushing it off would get Ymir a little bit more irritated.

Sasha settled on the couch and talked loudly with Jean like two girls at a sleepover. Ymir, Connie and Eren sat on the stool, I stood leaning my shoulder against their fridge, and Christa took a few glasses to make us Panaché. With that drink, the ratio of beer to lemonade is everything. A little bit too much of beer, and the drink is just bitter, low-quality beer. A little bit too much of lemonade, and it’s vaguely weirder than a lemonade.

Christa set the ratio just right, and served a few drinks. I shared one with Connie (we’d considered it light enough for him to drink, and shared with me, it couldn’t be that bad), Eren took an entire glass and Christa made two more for herself and Ymir. Sasha and Jean, though, were already in the pool, splashing water all around, screaming way too loud for kids in a pool at 3 am.

Some followed right after, but Connie and Ymir, although rarely talking and hanging out together, sat on the couch in silence, not embarrassed in the least, just dozzing off to sleep.

By the time I dared to leave the comfortable couch and approach the pool tentatively, Christa and Sasha were already out. Left in, Jean, Eren, and tons of way to push me to join in. I declined lazily, one, two, three times, but when Jean splashed water in my direction and asked a fourth time, I said: why not.

I stripped, feeling light enough thanks to the alcohol to feel embarrassed while doing so. I threw my neglected clothes on a chair outside, next to theirs, and when I turned to the pool in my dark briefs only, a breeze brushed my bare skin, making me shiver. Nasty.

“Come on! Stop making us wait,” Eren encouraged, and Jean followed with something else I didn’t catch.

Those two either hated each other or acted like the best friends to ever meet. That made the duo even better.

“Sure, I’m coming,” I smiled, and tasted the water with my toes. Fuck did it feel good. “There,” I groaned to myself as I eased my foot into the water, but only sat on the border of the pool as I didn’t feel like getting inside fully yet, and because the boys already weren’t focused enough to keep encouraging me.

I watched them from here, then leaned back against the grainy ground, tensing a little as my skin met the cold surface. I put my hands on my stomach and looked at the sky. It was already darker, but it felt nice, it felt so nice that for a moment, I felt like falling asleep with my feet in the water.

I could hear Mikasa’s voice from here. She was right behind, talking with Sasha about something I couldn’t fully get a grasp on.

Then, another voice came in, but from the other side, and I straightened up on my elbows as I realized Jean was swimming to the other side of the pool, alone.

“You coming?” Eren, fully sunk in the pool, had only his head out. His dark hair was glued to his face all over, creating odd but pretty twists and turns on his forehead, cheeks and nape. He looked younger. “I’m getting bored without you.”

He approached enough for him to speak lower, as things were getting calm around, and I realized he was really close. We’d already took baths together, and slept in the same bed; hell, we’d done worse. But seeing him wet like that, standing so close to my crotch, it made me feel uneasy, and I suddenly felt the urge to swallow my own saliva.

Eren smiled a bit, just enough to discover a thin, almost invisible line of teeth between his dripping lips. That detail was incredibly obscene.

“S-sure, yeah.” I looked at his eyes, then, and for a moment, it calmed me down. I straightened up a little bit more, and put my palms on the border of the pool, ready to let myself fall inside. “Yeah,” I repeated, the alcohol making me a little bit dizzy and less attentive.

“Hi,” he smiled when I sank in a loud splash. Some droplets landed on his face, but he didn’t turn away. “Isn’t that a great fucking night? I’m enjoying it so bad. Who knew couple anniversaries would bring so much fun.”

“I heard you!” Sasha called out, amused and also not, to which Eren answered with a tender middle finger up in the air, high enough for them to catch.

Eren smiled a bit more, and it created a crook on his cheeks, that, I had to say, was really cute. Sasha laughed, Mikasa followed lazily. None of us were surprised, none of us were shocked.

“Nice to see you around, little blond boy,” Eren then kept going, his voice lower since we were gaining proximity. I stopped when I felt like I was close enough, but Eren didn’t. “Where do you come from?”

I was almost sure he’d meant something else, but Eren, with a bit of alcohol (re: a lot), would easily lose control over his mind. It’s like wandering in a big, giant cloud, with no idea what to do or where to go; thoughts get gazy and messy, nothing seems really serious or important, nothing is sad, or anger-worthy, and in the end, it’s all a bunch of trippy, deep or meaningless words.

“The sky,” I said. Tonight it was really pretty — but just like any other night around. I liked to go to bed late enough to catch the first shades of sunset, watching like a thief from my window as so many colours would meet, some mornings more violently than others, and blow up in a giant, coloful horizon. “You?”

“The sea,” he said. And as he said so, lowered himself in the water until the level of water arrived at his upper lip. The sight, if not distubring, was highly mesmerizing, because of the lights inside the pool, so clear and white, meeting the blue of the pool, and reflecting itself oddly on Eren’s body and face. That was both calming and oddly euphoric.

All of sudden, he splashed water in my direction, and slowed down by alcohols, didn’t move fast enough to dodge the biggest part of it. It went in my nose and I coughed for several seconds. Then I rubbed my eyes and a few strands of hair stuck to my face.

“You motherfucker, I’ll have you,” I began, but Eren laughed so hard so I didn’t go further.

And then, when I looked up to him again, he was much closer. He actually was closer than he needed to be, much closer than I wanted anyone to be right now.

I heard Jean cry something out from the other side of the pool, and then Eren’s hands were on my face, gently holding the sides of my head as his fingers absentmindedly brushed my ears and the beginning of my scalp.

“Don’t move,” he warned before plunging forward, and I didn’t have time to think.

His eyes got closer, and his body moved closer to mine underwater, I could feel the surroundings getting warmer and the sensation of water pushing against my legs as he floated around. He leaned in way too fast, our noses bumped, but he still went for it.

I kept my eyes open and as I searched for a way to escape, my hands fell on his shoulders, but they didn’t move more than that.

Eren caught my lips open and, at first, just pressed his to mine. I could feel a bit of his saliva on my mouth, and the way he tilted his head to the side made the kiss so real, so awkward. Then he pushed to make me open a little more, and Jean’s voice came louder than before; closer, too.

My back met the border of the pool and as there was nothing left to push me against, Eren’s body pressed against mine awkwardly, both because of the movement underwater than because of his momentum. I felt his crotch against mine, vaguely, for a second, and my heart skipped a beat.

But I was too hazy, too distant to end the contact, and I let Eren kissing me as I obediently opened my mouth, reasonably. He slips one of his lips between mine, the other wrapped my lower lip between his, and this warm, wet mess ended as fast as it had started.

The sound came to me again and Jean’s voice arrived way louder to my ears than I had planned.

Searching for the wall, Eren’s right hand brushed my sides before resting on my bare hip for a second, and then disappeared like a ghost. I was left there, unable to breathe, unable to move, and Eren was swimming nonchalantly toward Jean with a vivid laughter.

“Told you I’m not a pussy!”

“Kissing a boy does _not_ , in fact, not make you a pussy, Eren,” he teased, and I listened without understanding shit.

The _fuck_ had just happened?

I was pretty sure Eren and I had kissed before, that shit happens, especially when drunk, but that couldn’t be so casual. Did Eren even think? Did he? He could be such a jerk when drunk, and for a second (re: a minute), I felt angry.

Eren was a few meters away laughing and arguing with Jean about a conversation they’d had earlier, and as I realized I couldn’t hear the girls anymore, decided to erase myself from the surface of the earth (well the house at least) while it was possible.

Stole my own clothes like a thief, pressed it to my wet chest and crossed the street with bare feet, shoes on my left hand. I opened the door that none of us had cared to lock before leaving, and slammed it with my foot once inside. It was too dark to see shit, and too quiet to have my ideas clean, but I knew the way by heart.

Tentatively, I walked up the stairs and wished nobody would look for me, ever.

I knew it was childish and surprising of me to act this way, but the alcohol had made me slightly paranoid, in a sense that I was drifting away from reality, from conversations and friendships, erasing my own self from the reality I was in. Something had happened and I wasn’t sober enough to care, to push Eren away as I should have, because I was fucking offended, no matter the reason.

Kissing Eren would have been okay, if only he had fucking asked. Yet, in a way, he’d warned me about this way before kissing me. I knew I couldn’t trust my memory with that many drinks gulped down, thus I decided to ignore whatever the fuck I was thinking.

Because I needed sleep. And because I’d never be able to open my eyes ever again.

What the fuck was Eren Jaeger doing to me?

And in the darkness of my room, as I patted my wet mattress to find my cellphone, I heard Eren’s distant laughter. I couldn’t tell if I had imagined it.

3:42 am.

I closed my eyes.

I’d kill him tomorrow.

That's how I fell asleep. Wet, wasted, freaked out, angry and, as I'd feared, _hard_.


	8. the one with the strange guy at the grocery store and the kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly love-struck, but going with it anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a new character to the story, who'll be very very important in the future. Next chap will probably introduce Annie, major for the plot kind of way, and some cute Eren/Armin moments to be read because I've been watching a _lot_ of gay movies lately, and I'm in a week-long break from college so I'll try to take advantage of it, although I am moving out and dealing with a lot of work.
> 
> This chapter is overall very calm and lazy, nothing exciting, nothing too big, it's just boring guys being dudes.
> 
> I suggest that you listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2LQdh42neg) when the song is mentioned in Armin's room, with Hitch.
> 
> For once I did take the time to edit/reread, correct the chapter entirely, but as usual I've had to search for words and check if what I'm typing actually exists, so if something ever bugs you, prolly means I'm just inventing words.
> 
> mh418 on tumblr, eternally.

Levi’s musical tastes went from classic rock bands to alternative metal, and funk with rock undertones that sounded like they all came straight out of a driving video game from Erd’s store. And as if listening to his music wasn’t enough, Eren couldn’t shut the hell up about the guy.

It wasn’t exactly some kind of sickening admiration, but more like that sort of spiritual awakening you get during freshmen year in high school. You know, when you discover the joys of masturbation, of chronic smoking, driving without a license, getting a girlfriend. Most of us only witness, though; the others end up with a lung cancer and a pregnant girlfriend at eighteen.

Meeting Levi had pushed Eren into being someone less basic, someone that’d always have an answer to everything, because that’s what Levi seemed to do.

Eren, as an insecure and generally full of doubts human being, liked to think he was safe with Levi.

I had woken up ten minutes before the safety alarm on my phone, stretching painfully in my sheets as I put aside the thoughts that’d lead me to sleep. And there was I, half alseep, barely standing on the stool around the kitchen island with gross, lukewarm coffee in my hands as Eren went around talking about him.

It was too early to hear about Levi, too early to hear about anything. To be sure I wouldn’t turn aggressive, I carefully stayed silent.

I had to go to Erd’s store this morning, which helped to pretend I didn’t have two hours of philosophy after lunch. None of us started the subject, but we all knew I’d somehow have to make a decision. With all the skipped lectures, the homework I wasn’t doing because I estimated myself too smart to waste my time, I was more closed to drop out than holding on even a little.

And then I thought of my parents, and I cringed, because I knew my studies were the mainly reason they had so much respect for me. To them, I wouldn’t be a complete child, but a learning adult.

Hey, anyways. Not like my parents were here or anything.

Not yet, at least.

“You listening?” Eren frowned, and I looked up with an irritated gaze. Of course I was, I fucking was, from the beginning, and I was growing insanely bored of it.

As if it wasn’t awkward enough, I couldn’t help the thought that we were both in the same small room, talking like nothing had happened the night before. I entertained the possibility of it being a dream as I looked in the depressing depth of my mug, but as soon as I lifted my eyes again, I knew it couldn’t be.

So, that was it. Eren and I had kissed last night.

We had kissed for some reason nobody had cared to inform me, and now we were looking at each other as if we were both silently choking. But for different reasons, I guess.

“Sure, sure, go on, it’s so worth my attention.” The words contained a little too much bitterness for his taste, as it’d be expected to early in the morning. It was barely nine. Nine is the time for passive television and out-of-date orange juices. “Come on, why don’t you annoy the guy with all your stuff?”

“Shit, _Armin_ , it’s important.”

“What is?” I frowned in my turn. I sure wasn’t listening to everything, but there was barely anything important in those words.

He sighed as if he had to go back to the beginning, and sat on the stool in front of me. I appreciated the sudden steadiness, but it meant proximity; and I could feel the weight of Eren’s eyes making my face melt instantly. I looked away.

“I want him to be my teacher or something. But I don’t know how to ask… the man is, well, he’s not like anyone.” That sounded like a really weird kink, and he was sweating admiration all over, the scent had invaded the space. But I didn’t say anything. “I’m sure he’d refuse if I asked. You know what I mean? I’m just a brat, I’m loud and I can’t fucking sit—“

“Positive,” I articulated between my teeth as I lifted my mug to my lips.

He looked up and even though he didn’t seem offended, he did tell me to shup up. I rolled my eyes in response.

“Can’t you ask Nanaba? She’s good with cars, no?”

“Are you crazy? She’s my boss. And she’s working, all the time, she could barely show me something. Besides, she’s not that much into racing. Levi, though, Levi’s… _the best_. You know.”

“Isn’t the guy already teaching you stuff? I thought you were hanging out sometime.”

“We are.” But he stopped, as if hesitating to go on. “He’s showed me some tricks. But I want him to, like, _teach_ me.”

The emphasizing sounded unpleasant in my ears but I ignored it anyways. Eren was just a naïve, admirative kid who wanted the world. Maybe too much.

“Doesn’t he have a job? Hanging out with a kid like you can’t be his only goal in life.”

He shrugged and leaned back on his seat, forearms resting on the high table. From here, I could see the huge _Iron Man_ logo on his white shirt.

Eren didn’t know who _Iron Man_ was, though.

“He’s single, and he was a soldier. He didn’t tell me much but I’m not sure he’ll go back.”

“Go back?”

“To the army.”

Then there was an awkward silence. Following the four seconds rule, I counted in my head. At six, Eren cleared his voice, and at eight, he slightly opened his lips to talk again.

“Don’t you have something to do today?”

I laughed dryly. I could hardly do anything else by now.

“Do I look like the type to wake up at nine just to listen to you talking about your crush?”

He went instantly red after this, and as I knew he’d maybe be offended by my attitude, I softened.

Still, I wasn’t in the mood anymore — especially when I noticed he hadn’t totally denied the fact.

“Yeah I do. I’m going in…” I looked at my cheap watch and narrowed my eyes to catch the current time. “In twenty minutes max. After that there’s going to be too many people in the bus.”

“Hey, Armin,” he called out after a while. He looked thoughtful, looking down.

I hummed a little to show I was paying attention, and he went on.

“When are your parents coming back?”

It took me a while to find an answer, and in the meantime, Eren’s eyes were curiously glued on me. Like I was about to burst into tears at any second. Like, somehow, he was bracing himself and ready to come my way if he ever needed to.

I shrugged, and before leaving the room to do something irrelevent, he slid a postcard across the table.

With my name on it.

 

*****

 

There’s nothing wrong with hating yourself. I’ve actually been thinking it’s one healthy, productive way to live.

Sure, you have to deal with serious amounts of breakdowns, swallow a few anxiety pills, maybe skip school and work for several days, weeks. Months. But the outcome is somehow benefit, as you become more aware of who you are, who you were, and what you aim to be.

People who have zero problem with themselves often wake up in the morning feeling like they’ve won everything already. Most of them don’t feel anything at all, because they don’t realize there are other ways of living. Of feeling. Of approaching things and people. This particular mindset will get you far, because very quickly, you’ll find yourself being incredibly smart.

Not only smart, but good. Thinking will get you into doing other things, like being more polite, more patient, more considerate. You’ll take your time to understand people and place yourself in their exact position, you’ll make sure everything is clear and justified. People will go around you like bees in a roaring hive, and you’ll sit quietly, smiling in your coffee cup because you know so much more.

Because, yes, it’s even better if you’re the quiet type. Like me, I guess. I’ve always been sort of quiet, and _Google_ once informed me I was one of those “introvert” people. A _shrinking violet_ , they said. Okay, sure, cool. But it’s not _that_ easy. To be more precise, I think the exact word to describe myself is paradoxal.

I doubt people think of describing me this way, though. Because people often obey to the three adjectives rule, which does not always consist of choosing adjectives. Sometimes, it’s a little bit more complicated, it’s larger, takes some time to explain. Haven’t you noticed? When you’re not there, when people don’t know you, when, somehow, you’re not where you should have been to prove your existence at this very moment, people use particular things to describe you.

The old man, kinda junkie, kinda drunkard, always sleeping at the bus stop and staring at you when you wake him up by innocently passing by. This tall, shy freckled girl whose nail polish is always half chipped. The friendly rumor says it’s a nervous habit. You also have the local athlete, magically never sweating, and whose nose is maybe a little too long. He listens to heavy metal, they say. Strange, for a sporty guy, they say.

What do they call me? What am I to them, to people? To strangers?

I like to think I’m quiet, calm, _mysterious_. That I have a few rare features and tastes that won’t suit everyone. My hair is a little too long, brushing my bony shoulders whenever I move. My clothes are a little too big. My silence makes most people uncomfortable. My nervous habit, among others, is to tease the inner corner of my eye to keep my hands busy in public.

What will they retain?

But those things don’t really matter, in the end, because what people will remember is mainly flaws. Fucking flaws.

So _yes_ , I’ll admit it.

I’m full of shit.

I’m full of shit, not because I’m rude, clumsy, weird at parties and good at lying, but because I hate myself. It feeds the fire on a daily basis, makes me harder to surprise, to send me off to sleep. That kind of self loathing stimulates the mind and keeps you awake. Yet somehow I’m always genuinely tired.

Still, the point is, when I catch my reflect in the mirror, what I see first is what I deeply believe others see first. And very often your biggest fears and flaws are the first things people see of you. Sometimes, it strikes, it’s so obvious it’s almost ridiculous; the rest of time, you realize it once you get to observe a little more quietly.

Maybe that’s why I tend to hate the human kind. Because I observe too much, and in the end all I see is their flaws, the deepest, darkest things they do, think, say. I’m a silent, powerless witness in the grand scheme of things and the insignificance is overwhelming.

I get high on loneliness because I’m a sour motherfucker.

I decide to go out at 2 AM, take a quiet walk to the bridge I’ve once taken Hitch to. No one, just passing cars and humid concrete, blurry orangy streetlights and the distant background noise of living people. I wish I had a car to go just anywhere, but when you’re young and poor and skilled at nothing else other than convincing people to bring you toilet paper when it’s out, you can barely escape walks. I do like walks, though, because sometimes the air is so cold I just can’t breathe, and it makes me close my eyelids a little, inhale a little deeper, and as my skin gets a little numb I appreciate the visible benefits of taking in some fresh air.

No matter why, where or when, after a solitary walk outside, you’ll always come home in a better state. It’s fucking mental, it’s in your genes. Hate your job? Wanna kill your girlfriend? Your parents, your life? Crappy car, crappy school, crappy friends? Fucking go outside. Walk.

It’s not about getting your thoughts in order, it’s about breathing. It’s about not being able to complain to anyone other than the wind, the night, and the rare old people who carelessly pass you by. Even they walk faster than me.

I thought of calling Hitch, of calling Mikasa, of calling just anyone. Maybe mom, though I knew damn well she’d be too busy to answer. Can’t really blame her, although it’s easier for me to build up anger just to keep me from feeling left behind.

Sometimes at night I’d imagine myself back in my parents’ basement, driven to school, dropped at my job, fed, given a bed and clean sheets. But a life with my parents meant a life of trying hard, of trying at all. I couldn’t force myself to get reasonable, sociable, optimistic; that just wasn’t me.

I swear inner songs echoed my own thoughts as I quickly thought of crying right here, right now. Swept the idea off my forehead in a sigh, and stopped at the highest point of the bridge to look at the city.

It smelled like piss, fresh air and gas, but the fact of being outside itself was enough to distract me from the smell. The bridge was peaceful as far as bridges went, and if someone had to appear out of nowhere to spoil this moment, I had the very tasteful possibility of jumping off the bridge and into the freezing, polluted water local drunkards often pissed in.

It kind of reminded me the high school party during which I had pissed against the wall of the local church, insulting it as I battled between hitting the stone or spitting at it. Basic friends, too sober to follow my shit but too drunk to lose theirs, just stayed back and laughed as they handed their crappy telephones to film the exploit. I can’t remember if Eren was there.

But it doesn’t matter.

Have you ever tried masturbating after killing an enormous spider in your bedroom? Have you ever even tried sleeping in it? Just generally being and breathing in this room? Because that’s something I’m not able to do.

There is something so distubring and uneasy in the change of atmosphere, something that quickly makes you paranoid and depressed. I can’t fall asleep — what if this spider is a mobster, and a dozen of cousins are gonna come kill me in my sleep to venge their family member? See, that’s not an option.

I remember one night at Reiner’s, when we were too drunk to even realize we were falling asleep, I woke up two hours later when everyone was still passed out. Actually, I didn’t — Reiner’s cat did wake me up, searching playfully next to the mattress something I mistook for a very late and unwelcomed playing session. But then, I leaned in to see what the cat was toying with, and I saw the biggest concentration of black in my life, ever.

Ever googled _Daddy Long Legs_? Those who have will shiver, those who haven’t will be stupid enough to google it right now. Then, they’ll shiver. Get over it. Shiver some more. Then forget what _Daddy Long Legs_ is even about.

I honestly don’t know who the fuck called these beasts _Daddy Long Legs_ , and I also have no idea if that spider was one, because I carefully looked at it as less as possible. And once I killed it, with a lot of patience and fear, I used three months worth of toilet paper to wrap the corpse in and throw it in Reiner’s toilets. This night, I slept with the anti-spider spray in my arms, and I also decided to appreciate cats.

_(The only eventual good things about spiders is, they’re probably as scared as we are. Do you think they want you running after them with a shoe, a magazine or a spray? They fucking don’t. And you don’t, either.)_

So that’s why I was outside this late, this lonely.

As I’d usually do during late, lonely nights, I’d searched for a miserable, low-budget movie to watch and then plan to jerk off to a reasonable, healthy extent, which I had precisely failed to do when a huge spider surprised me in the corner of my bed. Shy, but black enough to make me piss myself, I stood up as quickly as humanly possible, and proceeded to kill the thing. For about thirty minutes.

The idea of jerking off in this very bed (re: this very room) made me sick and I knew for a fact the couch wasn’t a safe place to do private stuff on. I mean, it’s not like I had _never_ caught Eren jerking off at eight in the morning, barely going to sleep when I was waking up for ten short minutes, just enough time to eat something and go back to bed. As for Jean, I’d once walked downstairs in the middle of a hot afternoon, only to find him naked, eating a bag of chips before jumping at my unplanned arrival and sending them flying all around. I think that’s very much enough of an experience.

The bathroom didn’t attract me more than that, probably because I wasn’t motivated enough to go there and do my thing, since masturbation had first appeared as a way to both occupy myself and bring some natural, easy sleep. Most of time, I’d just jerk off out of boredom.

After a bunch of minutes I went off to the grocery store and lazily strolled between the shelves as I searched for a good opportunity to waste the little money I had.

Some guy was hunched above the counter, talking vividly yet very casually with the cashier. It didn’t seem like they were arguing, so I didn’t care to look in their directions, and somehow caught a few sentences there and there, loud enough to cover the distant background music they were playing on the radio.

The air was cool inside, just as fresh as it was outside, and I took some time to imagine myself in the middle of a heated night, sweating the life out of me as this shop would have appeared as the ultimate survival. AC, cool fridges full of cool products, and enough dirty metal to make my hands cold.

I didn’t know the cashier that well, I was simply able to recognize him or the other girl working there on the weekends. I realized I didn’t have much contact with the people living here, all around me, so close it’s pretty scary. I also realized it was because I had never cared to make an effort, to ask for a name, a number, an address, never cared to open my mouth at all.

I mentally suggested to talk about the cashier when my turn would come, just to pretend I’m a social being doing social things too. Just to prove myself I’m physically capable of communication.

Most of the chocolate products were out of stock, surely since the local waves of sleep deprived students doing just as much as me. Only in a slightly more productive way, because unlike most students, I never went to university.

So I ended up buying a bottle of _Sprite_ and after switching between twelve brands of candy, decided to go with a cheap brand of sour marbles, barely managing to plagiarize _Skittles_.

I carefully approached the counter as I would in any social situation, trying to observe before having to act, to talk, to physically respond and act like I give two shits. It’s only when I turned around the last shelf of sandwiches and batteries that I looked at the two stilled silhouettes, who both vaguely turned to me when I seemed to approach.

I felt like I was disturbing something, and just like those people whose back you were talking in right before they arrived, the conversation went quiet in two seconds. They didn’t look to care about me more than that, though, and I wondered if I had just saved a very boring conversation from evolving into a more boring conversation.

What can I say? _God has big plans for me_.

The cashier was the same as always, tan and in great need of sleep, and he wore a Hawaiian shirt just like Jean would. He always would.

The other guy, though, it looked weirdly familiar. Not quite familiar, more like people had talked about him, like he was someone I was supposed to know by name or reputation. He looked way older than me, and I gave him a quick thirty — if not more. His arms were quite muscled, but in reasonable, human proportions, he didn’t look too hunky or ridiculously strong. He just casually looked like he’d be able to crush my head between his thumbs. Not like it’d be hard anyways.

Aside from that, he was pretty small (around my height, which for a strong and mature adult like him felt oddly rare and unexpected) and his black hair shone under the creepy neons. He either was sweating too much, or he had too much grease in his hair. Both seemed like his type, and I ended up choosing both of the possibilities.

The guy wore army pants and black boots, just like a soldier, and a white, sort of dirty white tee floated above his upper body. The white material would slightly shake as the AC sent regular waves of air our way. As for his face, I knew I had never seen him before, not in a while at least, but his trimmed undercut and eyebrows, his thin lips and sharp jawline made him look, well, quite pretty.

The type of guy girls go crazy over, in a very shy and quiet way. That type of guy who’s obviously attractive and whose appearance nobody needs to comment. A glance and everything is already said.

He frowned at me like I was weird for not coming closer, and I put my stuff on the counter as I shared a basic, passive head sign with the cashier. They didn’t continue their conversation, and I felt the military man’s eyes linger on me casually. The weight of his gaze made me uneasy, but I had a feeling it wasn’t necessarily negative, not even necessarily interested. He was bored, busying himself with what would approach.

The song stopped, the radio host came back on and talked about something I didn’t catch.

“It’ll be five dollars please.” The cashier looked at my plastic bag like looking straight at me would be a terrible effort to make, and while turning to reach my back pocket, I did the quiet mistake to catch the soldier’s gaze. Fuck, was he staring. He didn’t look like he gave a shit about how it’d make me feel, and it both comforted me greatly and irritated me. “Thank you,” the cashier went on when I handed the green bill.

“Do you live around here?”

Nobody looked tense, they were just plain bored, and where the cashier was sleepy, the other guy was seeking interaction, no matter the kind. It took me a second to realize who the words came from and who it was addressed to, but when I did, I answered instantly.

“Yeah, pretty much. Maybe ten minutes away by feet.”

He nodded slowly, lazily. I took my plastic bag and wondered if it would be too rude to leave when he had just began socializing with me. Would he care?

I didn’t take the risk and sort of stood there, awaiting an answer which, thankfully, came right there.

“I’ve never seen you anywhere. And I’ve been living here since…forever,” he trailed off. “What’s your name?”

“...Armin.”

His eyes looked like I had given the right answer, and I couldn’t tell if he had recognized me or if my name somehow pleased him.

He opened his mouth again and the words were already coming out of mine when he thought of asking for more.

“I’m going to the local university. And I work at a music and video game store. Erd’s store,” I corrected, just in case, because Erd was far more known than I was in the neighourhood.

He frowned at Erd’s mention like it rang a bell, and went back to slowly nodding.

“Okay kid, okay. Good.” He sounded like he was having an inner conversation with himself at the same time as talking to me. The words were painfully sarcastic and bored, but he genuinely looked interested and curious. Maybe 2 AM does that to some people. To people like me, it just makes you want to die a little, and then, after some food, porn and intensive self-loathing, you go back to being disgustingly okay. “Nice to meet new people.”

He resumed his lips in a polite, clumsy smile that looked more deep-rooted than purposely given, and his serious face made me uneasy for a second. The cashier was typing stuff on the computer, two meters away, doing his things like we weren’t worth the attention.

“I’ll get going,” I suggested, and he nodded again.

Surprisingly, he didn’t say a word.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so socially sollicitated, and felt my heart beating fast in my chest as anytime I’d have to talk to strangers. It went from bus drivers to Erd passively greeting me. Although Erd, I could handle. I knew Erd. Erd was chill. Erd was like me, except older, and less thoughtful, and maybe more likely to lose himself all around from moving too much.

But yeah, the situation was sort of funny, because he seemed like my quiet, observing type. Sure he had engaged the conversation, but I’d sometimes do this, too. Out of politeness or instinct, curiousity, who knows. Either way he was the kind to weigh his words and save them for more important occasions. The kind to open his mouth when he had something important, relevant and interesting to say.

I turned away and left the shop, going back to the silent world freezing outside. Suddenly I couldn’t feel the cold, body heating itself after any human interaction I wasn’t used to have. Cheeks mildly burning, palms somehow warmed up…

It’s only when I was about to cross the small parking lot, barely filled with any car at all, that the cashier’s voice came to me in an annoyed, hopeless haze.

The stranger laughed lazily and I could distinctly hear the word coming out of the cashier’s dry mouth: _Levi, put that shit down._

 

*****

 

I didn’t talk about the strange guy in the grocery store, not to Eren, not to anyone.

I wasn’t sure of what I had heard and seen, and I certainly didn’t want to start such a conversation with Eren, knowing he’d go crazy if he ever learned we had met. Maybe Levi would tell him right away anyways, so there was no use trying to inform him whatsoever.

I went back home as slowly as I could, both because walking too fast would often turn me into an old breathless man, and because I wasn’t feeling too hyped about going home.

I knew they’d all be sleeping, and I was right. Eren’s music was playing upstairs but there was no sound of life, no grumpy words echoing the songs as he’d change them every three seconds. Jean was very much dead, and I didn’t care enough to check both of the rooms. First, because I wasn’t seeking company, and also because I was too lazy to give a damn right now.

Mikasa had sent a useless text which I hovered quickly before locking my phone again. Mikasa never sends important texts — if needed, she gives a call. To which I rarely answer anyways, because I’m always busy doing nothing, because I’m so socially awkward I ignore phone calls, because I’m a piece of shit unable to change anything about it.

By _unable_ , I mean that I both can’t and don’t want to.

There’s another reason why I ignore phone calls, sometimes. Ever heard of the silent treatment? It’s a passive aggressive self-defense mechanism, and that’s how I go through everything as a quiet and overly proud person. I wish I could say Eren’s just as bad, but he simply pouts a little too obviously until someone tickles the wound, as for Mikasa, she’ll just plainly explain what’s bugging her and why you’re being problematic as fuck. Actually, she won’t hesitate to slap you in the face if she thinks you sincerely deserve it.

I sat on the couch and gave up on turning the TV on. At this hour there is nothing much, except bad culinary shows and TV programs tackling social issues, all bringing up the dumbest questions ever, like: _why doesn’t my teenage son ever shower? My fifteen years old daughter is talking to people on the internet, what should I do? Masturbation: how can we forbid it efficiently?_

 _Come on_. Your son is either lazy like me or convinced that natural masculine smells are good for his soul. Your daughter is either social or totally not social, and doesn’t need your intervention either way. As for masturbation, why would it be a sin? People rape and kill and steal everyday in America, no one gives them shit for that. Some of them are actually worshipped, and this is _sick_.

Sometimes when they tell you their phone line is open to questions and troubled parents, you’re cringing, debating if you should give them a nice, **_polite_** phone call or just plainly show your middle finger at the dead, fake TV screen. Everything is fake on TV. Nothing is live anymore. Directors are too afraid of bad words, sexual innuendos and critics against the government. They allow a ten seconds delay, at best.

They feel like it’d go viral, like it’d destroy the country. How ironic could it be that everything’s already going crazy? Look outside. Look how many people are existing all around and quietly feeling out of place, angry about shit, because idiots take huge decisions and everyone else is stuck on the bench in the middle of a decisive game.

I fell asleep somehow, lulled by the distant, regular sound of Eren’s neverending playlist. How I woke up, though, is another story.

Jean, of all human beings I have met so far, is one particular and illogical person. But there are some things about him you’ll know for sure: he’s not good at being polite, or quiet, or doing things the right way. He’s clumsy like Eren, and just like Eren, instead of cringing and trying to arrange things silently, he’ll give up on trying to be discreet and will scream how pissed he is.

Like many mornings, like many _early_ mornings, a pile of dirty plates fell everywhere in the sink, echoing in a familiar white porcelain noise. (I mean, the old ass plates we’d all collected at our grandparents’ houses.) It rang and bounced off the walls endlessly, until the sound would be entirely covered by Jean’s frustrated, barely choked swearing.

With sleepy eyes and half-closed eyelids, I sat upright on the couch and turned to the kitchen, not quite sure if Jean was alone. Which he actually was, in the middle of the kitchen, with the fridge open.

The TV’s black, thick box said 7 AM and Jean said 12 AM, but I didn’t try to go back to sleep. I’m like kittens. I sleep a lot but once I’m awake, I’m awake for good.

So here was I, beginning the day in every pleasant way, joining Jean in the kitchen as he went through the bottles in the messy door. He grabbed the bottle of _Coke_ , shook it thoughtfully although it was obviously empty, and threw it in the large plastic bag where we’d put all of the empty bottles ; the bottle, though, bounced off the already full bag and landed on the cold floor in a loud plastic noise.

“You are so delicate that it actually hurts, Jean,” I greeted lazily as I found my way up a stool. It took me some time, but once I was well and settled, I was ready to stay there for a solid hour.

“It’s not my fault,” he answered simply from behind the open door, grabbing others bottles and shaking it vividly. If you think I’m not a patient person, then just wait ‘till you learn to know Jean. “Whose turn is it?”

He stilled where he was, checking everything in the fridge as if there was some kind of chance he might end up finding something to drink other than tap water. Which, to say the least, he hated.

Of course he was talking about the grocery task, and I was pretty sure it was Jean’s turn. Good thing it wasn’t Eren’s, because he’d only go once he’d need something for himself. Wouldn’t call that selfish… just physically economic.

You know, like, saving energy for the right stuff.

Jean closed the fridge and his serious eyes met mine.

“Oh no…” he sighed. I shrugged. “No I’m not going. What time is it anyways.”

“Around seven, why are you up?”

He took a stool on the other side of the island and plunged his head between his palms.

“Not sure. Maybe I felt like masturbating or, whatever. Went to the toilets to take a piss and take care of that but by the time I arrived there it was gone. And now I’m awake and there’s fucking nothing to drink. As usual.”

His voice reeked of despair.

I had caught a glimpse of blackcurrant juice, and an old _Redbull_ can Eren had left there and never drank again. No milk, no soda, no beer. Just coffee and water. What a life!

“I think the store opens around eight in the morning.”

He looked up at me, trying to weigh his need for fresh drinks and his obvious longing to stay.

We ended up sprawled on the living room, him in the middle of the couch, and me on a huge floor pillow that felt like heaven. A small lamp was turned on in the corner of the room, giving just enough light for us to see shit, without being annoying or precocious. Because, yes, at seven, there was no sunray in sight.

The TV was on, but we had changed the channel to something, rather… us. Out of boredom, curiosity and sheer need to laugh for shit, we’d hesitated a moment when a kids cartoon had appeared on the screen, before putting the remote back on the table.

And on the table, there was just enough food to forget there was nothing to drink. Cereals, chocolate bars, fruits that would soon begin to rot, white bread and breakfast-passing candy.

We were sleep-deprived, bored and hungry, and therefore sat there for a good hour, choking on our dry cereals for pretty much nothing. At our age, watching cartoons is an incredible experience: you get so many things you wouldn’t as a kid, and that’s when you start to understand how deep some of them actually are. Have you ever tried to understand _The Simpsons_? What seems like a loud, dumb and cringeworthy cartoon is actually full of historical, cultural references and points the finger right at the big problems no one talks about.

Jean doesn’t seem to blink at it, but I get an inner debate on the question and conclude society is, as usual, fucking shit. Because people don’t see all these implicit winks, because others are forced to use a kids show to bring some light to common people like me.

A freedom of speech is an illusion, we’re all stoned to fucking _Prozac_ and high on compulsive consumption. That’s the tragedy of our generation.

It’s either this, or being a racist, homophobic ass working on fucking up the economy since the great Baby Boom.

“We could have asked Connie for the drinks, though,” Jean half-suggested out of nowhere, and mouth full of grapes, I turned to him with a frown.

He had to be dumb to seriously think Connie and Sasha would be up so early in the day. They barely manage to get up at all. Good thing Connie didn’t have a job.

“I’m serious,” he went on. “Connie told me about it.”

“About having drinks?”

“About having _sex_.”

I protested loudly and shook my head so hard I could feel the raisons bouncing inside my mouth, flying from a cheek to the other. We stilled but I kept covering his voice to prevent myself from hearing anything I wasn’t keen on hearing, especially at 8 AM.

Connie and Sasha’s sex life was none of my business and I wouldn’t pay a cent to know about it.

Jean’s a curious being, though, and that’s why he waited for me to go quiet to drop the bomb.

“Connie maintains she’s gone _wild_ lately. As in ready to fuck all day.”

Nausea knocked at the door and I looked at the TV to keep my mind busy. The characters took Sasha and Connie’s bodies and vivid voices and instead of the loud, artifical sound effects, a deep, perverted part of my mind imagined what they’d sound like. (In bed.)

I closed my eyes, hopeless, and Jean chuckled before going on, a spoon full of coffee ready to go in.

“Apparently it’s the season. He said she’s not like that usually, like, _at all_. Not that she’s never down to do anything either, though, but…”

“Jean do you really think I’m going to talk about Connie’s sex life with you? Because if you do you seriously need a girlfriend right now.”

I knew Jean was het for the life of him, yet somehow I’d always had a tiny doubt about everyone else. I had never really talked about it to anyone and therefore, any of my assumptions could be wrong from the start. Sasha could be bi. Maybe Connie liked dicks a little more than he’d like to admit. Who knows.

I wasn’t quite sure about my sexuality, maybe because I’d never experienced anything, but I knew for sure I liked girls. At least. Girls, girls… don’t get me started on this. Give me Mikasa’s personnality, Mikasa’s body, Mikasa’s sense of humour… and I’m calling you my girlfriend. Sometimes it’s frightening to realize how good we’d be together.

So why aren’t we? Good question. I don’t feel like it. And she never felt like it, either. What a fucking waste, right?

“I bet they’ve done it at least three times so far. Bless the rare but existing meters separating us from their house, it’s not like I’m down to have their extra-curricular activities as a stereo background while I take a shit.”

Thanks for the image full of poetry, Jean.

I’d always believed he had some _Baudelaire_ in him.

“You think Connie can last this long? I thought we had to wait at least half an hour to be, like, full again.”

I had the feeling I’d read that somewhere during my early teen years, when the Internet meant every possible sexual question, to Educate Myself. For the sake of my virginity. At least I know the average length of a dick (not that long) and where the clitoris is (not many do).

“Shit…” Jean frowned, looked down, and I could almost catch his own thoughts as he wrinkled his nose. “Shit I don’t know. What if Connie’s a sex god? Fuck, no, can’t be Connie. Of all of us, it can’t be Connie…”

“It’s not like Connie’s the only guy fucking something else than his own hand, anyways.”

Jean caught the sarcasm and it made him cringe even more. Virgin or not, we couldn’t quite say we were actively sexual. Jean would have bragged about a girlfriend if he’d had one. He had none.

And then, I thought of Hitch, and how open she seemed about everything. I imagined us fucking in a car, steam forming on the windows, desperate hands grabbing void as palms would press against the glass. I imagined the print of her fingers cutting the mist in a messy, shaky curve. And accessorily, how good it would sound slightly covering the volume of the radio.

I had no idea why it felt so easy to imagine myself with her, especially given we’d only met a while ago. Not that long ago. But Hitch, Hitch was that kind of mindfucking girlfriend in those funny, coming of age teen movies in which the hero is a loser in high school (and at home), and suddenly meets the sexiest, funniest, cutest girl he’s ever seen. I wish those kinds of things would happen in this world. They don’t.

Still, maybe Hitch was that girl. It’s almost like we were already stable. _In love. Sharing feelings and body fluids._

In love, though. That’s an expression I couldn’t use, and I knew she couldn’t, either.

“Anyways get up, let’s go to the grocery store.”

*******

The air was sickeningly heavy, and Jean drove home as slowly as it was mecanically possible to, simply because he didn’t want to take the groceries out of the car. And, also because, according to him, when it’s hot, everything should be done slowly.

Erd had left me the store for two hours, spent and wasted alone behind the counter lifelessly scrolling my _Facebook_ feed. But _Facebook_ sucks, both because everyone knows your friends aren’t on _Facebook_ , and because the rest is just as shitty. Gross emoticons, unnecessary status, a few vaguely familiar faces going back together after a just as unnecessary break up. I’d done a big cleaning session last summer, but you wouldn’t believe how many friends you can gain over a year.

I believe _Facebook_ was borderline good around 2009.

Jean just mainly likes articles, pictures and humour videos. Eren plays the games on his phone, which also show on _Facebook_ as everything is uselessly related to it. Mikasa changes her profile picture out of boredom every two weeks, switching back to old ones and sometimes, posting fresh ones. Either way, what she mainly does is ignoring the comments on it. Other than that, she sends me messages here because she rarely texts.

So, yeah, that was a pretty boring morning. Almost zero customer, and with such an early, heavy heat, which nobody had seen coming, everyone was probably home taking a cheap sunbath with kids screaming in the background.

When Erd had come back from who knows where, he’d gone to the backroom and done some tidying, and only joined three quarters later, when it was almost time to close the store for the day. Usually, he’d keep it open in the afternoon and call some intern, but it was obvious we wouldn’t do any profit.

I’d cleaned a few shelves and displayed the freshly arrived video games, all secondhand, all fucking overused, all fucking _vintage_. That’s why I liked them so much. No matter how bad the graphics, there’s nothing like a wave of nostalgy in front of a dusty _PS3_.

Afterwards, I’d taken some boxes of CDs and vinyls to take them to the backroom, and after turning off the speakers and a brief sweep of broom, that was about it.

Jean decided to come pick me up (only because he needed me for groceries). Not only did he want me to carry it, but also pay for it, swearing a dozen of times he’d pay me back later. We both knew that was a lie. I payed anyways.

We arranged the groceries the best we could in Jean’s tiny car, but he dropped the box of eggs at the very last minute; so we went back inside and argued some more.

On the way back, not only the car was burning because of the sunny place we’d parked it on, but the air was unbearably warm, and for the first few minutes, Jean drove as fast as he was allowed to so we could gain some fresh air through the open windows. It worked for a bit, and then we started melting again.

* * *

Eren was lying on the couch, stuck somewhere between reality and a world away. I picked up my computer upstairs and settled on the seat next to the couch, quietly looking up whenever Eren would snort and fidget around.

Jean joined in, just for a minute, actually just to piss Eren off. With the tip of his index, he teased the shiny, soft button of Eren’s nose and pressed it a few times to get a reaction. A smile stuck on his face, he started whispering things to him from above the back of the couch, a position that was probably killing his insides as whatever price was meant to get to annoy him.

He groaned softly, moved to the side and his bare feet stuck out of the couch. At least, there was zero chance of having cold feet, as the temperature was already hot enough to strip in a regular, basic, effortless situation. That kind of temperature gets you lazy, sleepy, it makes you want to lock yourself up in your room and masturbate until you pass the fuck out. Which Eren probably has.

Jean kept asking questions, to which Eren grunted hastily; whenever he lifted his head to throw me some words, I’d simply nod and hum thoughtfully, looking at everything but his pleased face. Who knew what he was talking about. He resumed his conversation with Eren and when Jean cackled in his breath, Eren rolled on his stomach and stuffed his face in the pillow.

I clicked on the ad mails in my inbox to delete them, and in the background I heard Eren mutter some insults. Then all of sudden Jean straightened up and hurried to the stairs, most likely to imitate what Eren must have done while we were out. (No great imagination needed, just take a guess.)

Eren started mumbling messy words to form a sentence, trying to raise his voice as Jean wandered away, but he was already too far.

“Hi,” Eren whispered at me after a minute of hazy confusion, of rolling to his side again and of realizing I had been there the whole time. It’s only after a few long, solid seconds of staring that he dared to form a word.

“Hi.” There was no tenderness in my voice, no harshness, either. I was clearly bored, but admittedly, Eren’s voice and the way his face was clouded with sleepiness, was oddly cute.

I checked the rest of my mails and Eren slowly dozzed off again.

 

* * *

 

“What a fucking scam,” she breathed out in a sigh as she twirled the tiny plastic spoon inside her coffee.

It was cheap, tasteless coffee that both felt too bitter and too sweet at the same time. I had pushed it back to her side of the table, and here were we, sharing a tiny cup of stolen bucks for a few sips of a strange, black liquid.

Hitch was wearing the usual faux fur coat and her relatively short hair was just as messy as it’d be after a sleepless, partying night.

The scene would have been cute if we were in winter, but outside, instead of melting snow, friendly clouds and people going around with scarves and coffee cups from _Starbucks_ , there were only aggressive drivers with their windows down, sweating people wandering along the deserted shops and violent sunrays taking over the city.

There was no scarf, no need to cuddle and seek warmth in someone else’s arms, no hot drink to order in the corner of a lonely, cozy coffee shop that’d usually only be full of hipster college dropouts and artsy middle-aged professors trying to relive their youth by flirting with young students and enter the teenage world incognito.

Yet here were we, still, dressed for winter and drinking a sorching cup of coffee, our calves somehow gently brushing each other’s under the table.

“So,” she started, a hand around the cup as she, with the other, pushed a timid strand of hair behind her ear.

The hair fell back before her left eye but she didn’t bother pushing it off again.

“What kind of crazy stuff have you done lately?” She was smiling as if waiting for endless, fantastic stories rich of plot twists and incredible cliff-hangers. She must have overestimated me a little. “Don’t you have anything to brag about? Let’s talk about your wild, breathless college life.”

There was nothing to say about anything, and I sort of stayed there, on the burgundy leathered bench, looking back at her with saddened eyes. Her smile only grew.

“I am the eternal witness of everybody’s life. Eren is falling in love with the local delinquant and Jean seems to get high on everyone’s misery. Meanwhile I sit on the couch and wait for anything to happen.”

Awkwardly, I realized how suggesting my last words had been.

Making anything happen, that clearly was Hitch’s job. So far, she had been the only unpredictable, seemingly fresh breeze coming my way. Randomly showing at my house, going on non-dates and having the weirdest conversations was part of her current role in my life.

I was curious to know if she’d have a role, after that. I guess I could have just asked. I guess I could have just kissed her, right here and then. She wouldn’t have said no.

The fact that we both knew it perfectly made it pretty comfortable.

There were no _if_ ’s, only _when_ ’s. No pressure, just curiosity.

“Eren’s always been an artichoke heart, hasn’t he? He’ll come back to you, someday.”

I felt like there was some hidden meaning in this, but let it slip behind my feet nonetheless.

“He might, he might.” I stared at the coffee in Hitch’s hands, ridiculously resting on the table for forever, and then looked up at her with a frown. “I am in desperate need of serotonin. With or without Eren.”

I was well aware that I was straightforwardly suggesting her to do something about it, but I knew better: she wouldn’t just lean in and grab my face, she’d smile and make me wait because that’s what Hitch does.

I looked into her eyes and wondered if she had kissed someone else last night. I found myself not caring too much.

“Admit it, this place is so full of surprises. I bet you are trembling right now. Isn’t it enough? Beware the serotonin overdose.”

I smiled.

It was obvious our conversation was senseless and sarcastic, also did she make sure a few people around would hear us all the way. Nothing ever goes unnoticed with her.

She was leaving her trace, marking her existence on the ground underneath us, taking things so lightly it almost seemed unreal. It was almost impossible to wonder how such a girl could feel so unhappy inside, when all those layers of smiles and touch-friendly skin disappear.

“The quality is way over the top. And look around, the air is so fresh. I’m almost _flying_.”

That was a blatant lie. The air was so heavy we could have melt, and the coffee had the same taste as this medicine for diarrhea I’d had to ingest for three days when I was twelve.

The nearest waitress glared at us and Hitch’s laughter invaded the space.

We decided to leave, for good measures (and also because there was nothing more to do in this boring, colorless space). Instead, I decided we’d go to the cheap ass convenience store and buy some chocolate bars.

Here were we again, sitting on the (by some blessing) shadowed skate ramp with our plastic bag full of candies, soda cans and that kind of stuff middleschoolers buy with their own pocket money after school, making sure their mothers (or dentists) would never know.

“Going back to eigth grade, right now. I used to come around here so much.”

I took a sip of the _Sprite_ can we were sharing and enjoyed the sunny, summer-like colors blindly glowing around us. The trees, the dusty ground, the colourful paintings on the giant, long wall bordering the skating area… It did feel like middle school. Only, I didn’t remember ever seeing Hitch, anywhere.

That’s when I realized I had never acknowledged her existence beforehand.

I could have felt guilty, but I knew there was no reason for it. Most likely, Hitch hadn’t known about my existence either. Funny how we had ended up stuck together nonetheless.

Well, together being a big word.

“We used to come here after arguing with our parents.” There was a silence, during which I was reminded of Eren’s mother. She had been so sweet, and would often think such a person didn’t deserve to leave so early. I’d always believed it had left a big, burning mark on Eren. “Back in middle school I was so afraid to live, yet I didn’t care too much.”

“I get that too.” She smiled, proceeded to open the brown, plastic wrapping of a _Snickers_. “When you’re so bored and overwhelmed by the emptiness that you end up doing nothing.”

That would make a pretty good summary of a hot summer in South Chicago, when really we should have been working our asses off to earn the money we didn’t have to buy all this shit we fatally didn’t need.

Working, in the first place, felt stupid enough.

I thought of Marco in his burning, crappily ventilated fast food, then of Eren working in a hot, dirty garage in the open air, and of Erd, too, probably stuck at the store when the daily average of customers apprixomated zero.

 

* * *

 

The air had cooled down by the time we were back to the house. She decided to stay a little, but since there had been no specific words or time indications, it felt like she’d never have to leave.

I was lying down on my bed, sheets unmade and messier than ever, and the shy, March-looking grey sunlight comforted our decision of staying inside for the rest of the day. It was already 6 PM and clouds left a constant raining threat, and oddly enough, this time of the day already reminded me of Christmas.

Hitch had switched half of her clothes for nothing, leaving her shoes, dirty jeans and fur coat on the worn out seat in the corner of my room. Eyes curious and hands shameless, she was going through my modest collection of CD’s that I was keeping behind a pile of old vinyls. All of this came from Erd’s unsold stock and what I had bought for myself there.

I stayed there in peace and silence, realizing I could use some sleep, but Hitch’s presence kept me awake and well. Then, when I was about to talk, she turned to me with an album of _Cigarettes After Sex_ in her pale hands.

This band wasn’t too old, 2010 at best, but the only time I had seen their name was on the lonely shelves of Erd’s store. I believed the shop was full of outcasts like me, whether it was forgotten low-fi video games or rusty sounding dream pop CD’s.

Hitch offered a smile, to which I answered (and added a curious frown), watching as she turned on her bare feet and pushed the damaged disk in my just as damaged stereo. I saw her checking the back of the cover and pressed a button a few times.

By the time the song had started, she had put the cover down and joined me, crawling her way up to the bed. I recognized _Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You_ almost instantly.

“Do you know this band?” I asked, confused, as she settled at my sides with her hands on her chest.

“No,” she just laughed, and the light, musical sound shyly invaded my room for a few seconds. Then it disappeared, although I could still feel her smile wandering in the air with the echo of her laughter. “The title just talks to me. It doesn’t sound that bad, I admit.”

The slow, soothing melody would have lulled us to sleep if our minds weren’t so awake.

I felt Hitch letting her hands fall back against her thighs, brushing mine by the same occasion. I wasn’t sure it had been accidental, but it was fine with me. To prove it, I searched for her hand in the small space between our hips. A surprisingly lukewarm finger jumped at the touch, but before I could do anything Hitch’s hand was already grabbing mine, gently resting ours on the slight hollow of her hip.

We would have looked like flirting middle schoolers if both of us weren’t so relaxed. In fact, I’m pretty we could have fallen asleep like that, which would have been fine with us.

We could, if Hitch hadn’t turned to her side to awkwardly face me, and I turned my head in her direction as a mechanism, thinking she had something to say.

She didn’t.

Actually, she just stared, for as long as I can remember.

Then she brought our laced fingers up to her chin and rested her face on it, closing her eyes for a moment. And just when I thought she was starting to fall asleep, her lips parted in a peaceful, satisfied smile.

Her white teeth showed and I stared calmly, perfectly content with the sight. It would have been a hideous lie to say Hitch wasn’t pleasant to look at, no matter how long, when or where.

“I could get used to it. I mean, this. Us laying here like an old couple or freshly made baby best friends taking an afternoon nap side by side. I could really get used to it.”

I didn’t smile, I didn’t laugh, either, but the words came to me easily. Hitch had this particular way of making you feel like everything was normal, like you had known each other for years and were just obeying to a long-time tradition of yours.

In reality, though, it was the first time we were doing this.

I could get used to it, too.

We weren’t forced to kiss, but she still leaned in, and as I recognized a warm breath against my slightly parted lips, I realized she had stopped there. I opened my eyes to find hers, and the proximity threw me off for a second only.

Because after that, our noses started to touch, and in the unmoving silence, I raised my free hand to gently caress the bare, warm skin of her exposed neck. Under the touch, her eyelids closed again, and I caught the corners of her mouth twitching lightly.

I drew small circles with the side of my thumb, exploring the tiny patch of pale skin she was offering, and as the song kept going I swear I could feel us dozzing off.

And we did. Somehow.

We did, and when I opened my eyes again, she was gone.

A reflex got me thinking I might have been imagining all of this, but the space at my side was still warm and as I reluctantly let go of the pillow, caught a glimpse of Hitch’s perfume.

I went to the toilets for a lonely session of pissing, sighed when I realized I had forgotten my phone back in the room, and splashed some water onto my face. I traded my respectable outfit for loose grey sweatpants and Eren’s oversized orange tee, of the horrible unicolor tees collection he owned.

Nonetheless, I still liked them, because they’d always remind me of my childhood and the time when I’d wear blank, unicolor shirts, convinced band tees and logos looked too lame for me. I used to feel smart about it.

Took my phone, turned the stereo off, and sleepily found my way downstairs. It’s only two steps in that I realized how dark it was, and that the living room lights were on. How long had I slept in?

“Yo, I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake up,” Jean took the time to throw at me when he appeared downstairs, flashing before the stairs as he hurried back into the kitchen. Where was he coming from?

There was a lively, choked conversation in the kitchen and I carefully approached. I appeared in the doorless doorframe, and half of the voices shut off instantly.

Hitch turned to me, hoisted on a stool and hunched over the island. She gave the biggest smile, eyes crazy from what I think had been a random, senseless conversation with Jean, Eren, and Sasha, who was comfortably sitting at the opposite of the improvised table, loudly going in an argument with a frowning, frustrated Eren.

Jean raised his eyebrows in despair and slid a few words to Hitch before exploring the disappointing content of our fridge.

I stopped at Hitch’s sides, happily surprised that she had stayed. I thought of offering her to stay the night, but it felt to me that it wasn’t the right timing and put it off.

“I’m surprised you haven’t left already. These specimens are pretty fucking hopeless. _Walking disasters_ , if you ask me.”

The situation, though, seemed to greatly amuse her and she nudged my shoulder with lively eyes.

“And _I’m_ surprised nothing too crazy happens to you when you’re living with such weirdos. I like them, though,” she hurried to add as if she feared I’d take it the wrong way. And to think I had once been afraid that these idiots wouldn’t get along. “They’re cool.”

“Cool… well, Jean is a desperate case and Eren cannot be cured. Sasha is the lucky one of the bunch but she still has issues.” I faked a grimace and as if to illustrate my words, Sasha dropped her slice of freshly ordered pizza on the floor.

Jean, right next to her, stared in awe and lost his shit as his crazy laughter competed with Sasha’s loud, hysterical response. Eren chuckled to himself as he took a bite, looking at me to acknowledge my presence.

I nodded back, and at the same time, Hitch caught my attention by nudging my shoulder again.

“Want some?” and the rest of her slice appeared in my sight, to which I answered by biting off a good piece.

Cheese pizza. The best pizza.

Although I could argue salmon pizza is a great rival.

Somehow, we had gotten closer and I looked at her near lips as if hesitating to kiss her right here and then. But out of the blue Jean choked on his own mouthful as Sasha dropped a second piece, and the general hysteria made Hitch choke in her turn.

I watched, desperate, and wondered if I’d ever get out of this mad house.

Probably never.

“Yo, Jean,” Eren called with his mouth full of cheese. “Nanaba’s closing the garage for a week and—“

“So what,” he growled from the other side of the island.

“Shut up I’m not done,” he added, and frustrated, went on. “How about we go back to cleaning pools for a week ‘cause I really, _really_ need money.”

“What for?” Sasha asked, but her question went unnoticed as Jean began protesting.

“Jeez Eren don’t you remember how it ended last time we did pool cleaning?”

I didn’t need to be reminded, as images of bloody boys coming home to me flooded my mind instantly. Give them improvised weapons and superificial reasons to fight, and they’ll come home bloody, angry yet strangely happy.

I believe this is by hitting each other that Jean and Eren got to tolerate (and like) each other.

Maybe it’s a source of respect. Fuck if I know.

A plastic cup rolled off the table and to the ground, and when Jean bent over to pick it up, I looked away with a cringe.

“Fuck, Jean, when you stoop we can see everything,” I cringed some more and looked away.

Indeed, not only the hem of his boxers was showing, but it was so low on his ass I could almost see the whole thing. Jean wasn’t one to follow this stupid trend of leaving jeans too low and ass showing, but he wasn’t one to buy belts either.

“That’s because the front is blocking everything,” he replied and raised his eyebrows in a satisfied motion.

Hitch and I both pulled faces in response to the mental image, and Jean went away, happy with himself.

“God,” she breathed out, looking at her slice with baffled eyes.

“That’s what I get for pointing it out.”

“Who would have known. Hey, where are you going?” she cried out when Sasha was about to leave the room.

Hitch was one of those persons caring when it comes to say goodbye properly. Although I believed she would be perfectly fine with leaving without a word, which is had been my method for more than twenty years so far.

“Just going to the toilets. After the boys kept taking shits for ten minutes.” That was way before I’d arrived, and I was glad.

“It’s okay, the warm toilet bowl is the perk of the last one.”

Her face melted into a strange mix of an amused smile and a disgusted reaction, and she disappeared upstairs to take care of her business in the last functioning toilets of this damned house.

“Let’s pray there’s still paper upstairs,” I confessed, unable to remember if I had finished the roll. Either way, we wouldn’t be able to hear he panicked distressed screams from here we were, especially since Jean and Eren had started arguing again.

I rested my elbows on the edge of the island counter and Hitch instantly leaned on me. Awkwardly hesitated between staying like that or wrapping an arm around her shoulder, but it would have come off too meaningful, and I chose to stay still.

When I came back to the ongoing conversation, Eren and Jean were already far.

“She had twins, like, last week-end,” I heard Hitch inform and held back the urge of asking who and why. Most likely was someone from high school who’d happened to be pregnant and single. I mean, isn’t it the current trend?

I’m not shitting on people who decide to keep a baby or get over the fact that they cannot abort because it’s too late or too expensive or too dangerous — I’m just saying people our age aren’t capable of taking care of ourselves. How would you take care of a baby?

I certainly can’t.

“Yeah?” Jean joined in, eyebrows lifting with sheer curiousity and vague surprise. “How many?”

Eren froze at his sides and I cackled, shoulder brushing Hitch’s as passive laughter slightly shook my upper body. She bumped back on me and I knew she was trying hard not to smile.

“Jean…” Eren tried, but the need to facepalm himself for Jean (and everyone in this room) was too strong. He shook his head, closed his eyes in pure despair.

“What?” Jean looked around, gaze hovering each of us in confusion, and I witnessed the exact moment when realization came across his face. He went blank for a moment, then his eyebrows fell on his face and his soul left his body. “Shit that’s not what I meant—“

But Eren was already gone and lost, his own voice covering his as he insisted that he was greatly stupid. They kept arguing and Sasha burst back into the room, seemingly unimpressed.

I mean, she had to deal with Connie on a daily basis. She was immunized.

I laughed a little, unable to keep it in, and was reminded the last time this kind of stuff had happened to me. I was coming home with brand new shoes when Eren’d asked how many.

To which I had replied two.

Stupidity, clumsiness, I’ll let you choose.

Later on, I walked Hitch outside as she finally decided to go home, wherever home was. She vividly rubbed her palm against the other to gain some warmth, and for a second I regretted that she wasn’t staying.

“So. Here we are,” she sang softly, her voice almost too calm in the darkness. It was this time of the day where faces went too dark to be seen, and laughters went louder, echoing in the streets as footsteps and muffled words kept them alive.

“Here we are,” I repeated stupidly, thinking there wasn’t much to be said after all.

“Hey, Armin, these are some cool friends you have right there. If I were you I’d take the time to appreciate.”

I was about to tell her how wrong she could be, because living with them wasn’t always constant laughter and drunkeness.

Sometimes when you live with the same people for too long, you get irritated by them on an insanely deep level. For nothing much, most of the time. For little things: intonations, misplaced questions, the wrong words at the wrong moment… It’s hard to fight it.

But then I stopped myself, because I’d ruin the moment, and clearly, she didn’t want to be told that stuff.

We stared at each other for a moment, not too long, but long enough for me to start wondering what I should do. The streetlight gave a really shy lighting angle to her face, and she seemed like those girls in romantic movies, waiting to be kissed. Waiting to be blown away.

I wasn’t capable of blowing her away, but I could still do that.

So I approached, enough that our bodies were slightly touching, enough that it became obvious what I was about to do.

We took our time, and our faces brushed each other quietly, without hesitation, without pressure; I could see she was smiling calmly and somehow my hands got to her neck. Fortunately, they were still warm.

The tip of my thumb teased the tiny bit of her jawline I could reach in this position, and gently, she kissed me. There was no wet lips, no tongue, no eagerness to go further.

We just kissed.

As disappointing, as simple as it could sound, that’s all we did.

Then we parted a moment later, enjoying the warmth of each other as the air got colder and colder, and then we exchanged a few looks. She told me she might call me, and I told her I’d answer if she ever did.

I wasn’t feeling dizzy, or incredibly overwhelmed, and such a moment could have disappointed me if I hadn’t been such a realistic, down to earth mind. But, funnily, when I went back inside, I felt less alone.


	9. the one with the baseball game and the late night drunken punks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin is a social freak, and everything deeply sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have internet anymore so I'm posting this from uni. Life sucks.
> 
> Also this chapter reminds me how much I'm shit at english. Bye.
> 
> Will edit later.

We all drove down to the local baseball field when the last sunrays began to show, and the usually deserted space left us quite a luxury to do whatever we wanted. The neighbourhood once had lots of lively families, but now, a wave of bankrupts arrived with the coldest winter years ago, and since then, it’s only been a ghostly street filled with empty houses and silent, trashed sidewalks everyone had forgotten about. Not like baseball could ever bring it back to life, as it had never been our locals’ thing.

Still, we liked baseball, and would often meet like that during hot and heavy afternoons, comforted by the fact that there wasn’t anyone around to scare us away. (Or the contrary, because none of us actually knew how to play — we were even _terrible_ at it.)

 _Jean_ , though — Jean was pretty fucking good, although he’d never played in any school team or even actually tried to be that fucking good. He just did, somehow, and in the wide ocean of worthless players, assured victory to whoever managed to get him in their team.

Eren whistled, both to encourage and distract him (it was never quite possible to know), and Sasha’s head turned to me as if waiting for a signal. I shrugged, looking around to check the bases, and a sudden wave of relief came to me when I realized Jean was next at the bat.

He warmed himself, swinging the bat in the heavy void as his shoulders worked and tensed under his green tee, and Connie, somehow standing outside the field, stared at his back with horror. Not sure if he was jealous of his skills or his shoulders, because although none of us actually _were_ muscled, Jean was probably the strongest. That, if we put Mikasa (and Reiner, physically _built_ with steel and titanium) aside, because Mikasa didn’t need much muscles to kick Jean’s ass and bury it with a flying kiss.

I heard Sasha cheer behind, starting to get off her base as Reiner prepared to throw the ball. But he swirled on his feet and sent it our way, and Sasha flew back to her base by landing disgracefully on the dusty ground. Her face was covered with layers of brownish dust, but her palm was flat on the white square. Safe.

“Nice try, _asshole_!” Eren called from the side, and I chuckled because despite his convincing energy, Eren had been out before he even ran to first base.

I knew Reiner would try to kick Sasha off too, but she was fast and aimed good, which made her quite a nice batter, strength aside. Maybe that’s because of her ten years old relationship with bows and arrows.

I was stuck at first base with Sasha safe at the second, and Ymir and Mikasa had Reiner’s back on the defense field.

“Come on, stop fucking around,” Ymir pleaded with a bored look, and grinned at Mikasa would instantly reproduced the smile. I like to win, but these two, they _hate_ to _lose_. There’s a difference.

“Yeah, bring it on Reiner boy!” Jean laughed before swinging his bat around again, and stilling it near his cheek.

I heard Eren cry out something meant to be inspiring for what it was, but Reiner’s arm was thrown backwards and I wasn’t listening anymore, not taking my eyes off the ball for a second. I could get thoughtful and relaxed whenever it’d be Connie or Reiner’s turn (as amazing as it sounds, Reiner was awful with the bat), but Jean left no place for amusement.

He sent the ball flying towards Jean, this time, and Connie prepared to receive it in his oversized glove — in vain, because a loud _clunk_ echoed all around when Jean hit the ball straight up to the corner of the field. Jean threw the bat to his side and started running, creating a chain reaction as Sasha and I went on full speed.

Mikasa rushed to the ball and gracefully sent it back to Reiner, but when he turned around, we were all safe. I had arrived in extremis at the second base, Jean stuck behind, Sasha plainly annoyed with the fact that she couldn’t make it home.

We were four against four, and sometimes we’d feel the teams strongly inequal, yet today I felt like I was at the winner’s side (that, despite Eren’s loud and very fast defeat).

“Failure of a pitcher!” Mikasa teased with a giant, teeth-showing smile, to which she was welcomed with a polite middle finger (Reiner’s, obviously).

“Shut up, my defense was too slow.”

There were several laughters and I shook my head with a smile, and after a vivid conversation, we let Eren in again ; mostly because we didn’t have enough players to cover a full inning without pausing awkwardly to think of a strategy that’d fit everyone. I mean, we were awful, and we were only eight: that left the possibilities disgustingly small.

I arrived safe at home but Jean got kicked out, and we all fell to the ground as Reiner called it a play. We’d switch sides a while later, but for now, I just wanted to drink. Anything.

By some miracle, Eren landed noisily next to me and it’s only when he sighed, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, that I noticed he’d brought a bottle of water with him.

I straightened to my elbows, just about to ask for the bottle when he knowingly handed it in my direction. The fucker knew me too well, apparently.

I took it without any kind of thank you and drank a solid half before handing it back, keeping the lid as he instantly gulped the other half down. He asked for the lid, put it back on the bottle, and sent it to Jean’s exposed back. Jean gave the usual “ _fuck off, Jaeger!_ ” and Eren lied down at my sides with a satisfied grin. Being twenty-three never meant he was mature, but then again, none of us were, so I just rolled my eyes.

And as the sex-deprived, alcohol-craving teens we were, I swear a _blink-182_ was playing in the background.

Eren’s eyes met mine and I looked away. That was the closest we’d ever been since he’d kissed me in the pool.

That, we’d never talked about, and I knew with a glance none of us was going to.

“I always forget how good this place feels,” he let out with the satisfied sigh of a day that was just fine, and I was about to tell him how sentimental that sounds before shutting my mouth again. He didn’t need me to know that.

“It’s only a few blocks away from home, anyways.” I was trying to make him understand how simple this place was, but he had just understood how simple everyday pleasures had to be.

He was about to reply, retinas deep in mine, when someone screamed at the bleachers. He sat upright in a second, and I slowly mimicked the gesture, eyes following his where the sound was coming from.

Three persons were standing there, and a fourth, more delicate and immobile, was waiting on the edge of the field. I witnessed the exact moment where Eren’s face lit up entirely, going from the semi-bored grin he’d reserve for me to a smile I didn’t know existed.

And just like that, he left me alone as he ran up to him.

To _Levi_.

“Who are they?” Mikasa asked as she stopped behind me, her doubtful face looking at me from above.

“I have no idea,” I finally replied, more because I didn’t want to than because I didn’t know.

She gave me a hand and I stood up again, and we warmed up in a disturbing silence somehow punctuated by Eren’s loud voice and the slow rumble of Levi’s.

I kept glancing their way, deeply irritated, irritated that he’d come _here_ , a place where everything seemed like a secret we all shared, a place where we never brought any stranger.

Levi wore the same thing as in the grocery store, more or less, and his friends didn’t look like they came from the army, except one guy, maybe, who stood aside with his hands in his pockets. He was blond, solid, taller — and as much as I hated to admit it, he did look good, just as Levi.

“Eren, bring your lazy ass over here!” Jean shrieked at some point, and I almost felt the visceral need to thank him.

Eren turned to him with a questioning look, trying to weigh how important the order had been, and then turned back to Levi as they nodded, strangely polite with one another, and took opposite directions.

They didn’t leave, though — no, instead, they worked their way up to the miserable, unstable bleachers. There were only five rows, for ten persons each, and they all dispatched themselves everywhere. Levi, on the second row, spread his knees and rested his elbows on them. He was there for quite some time.

I would have said _fuck me_ if I wasn’t too preoccupied by repeating it in my head already.

And that’s how I got in a passive aggressive mood, uncertain about whether it’d be a good thing for the next inning or not. In all honesty, I didn’t feel like playing anymore.

A teacher, my ass. He’s not teaching him anything, he’s just standing there.

We started with the attack, and then switched to defense as Sasha ran around to pick up all of our overused, old and greyish balls. I started as pitcher, and Jean crouched behind Ymir and her wooden bat with his glove wide open.

I checked the bases, wiped the sweat off my forehead, went back to Ymir. I could feel Levi’s gaze lingering on me.

“Hey Armin, I’m over there,” Ymir teased with a smile I didn’t feel like reproducing. Instead, I took a step back and threw my arm behind, throwing the ball directly into Jean’s glove as she loudly complained.

Jean sent it back and I threw a second time. This time, Ymir’s bat touched the ball, but sent it my way, and I effortlessly welcomed it in the hollow of my glove.

When I threw it a third time, though, everything went faster and I wouldn’t be able to exactly determine how anything of it ever happened.

First, I remember a loud noise coming from the bleachers, and things moving way too fast for me — one glance at the side and there was Levi falling off the front row, one of others bursting out laughing, and the rest rushing to help.

Meanwhile, Ymir ran to the second base with ease and when Sasha sent the ball back over here, all I could do was breathe out and pass the fuck out.

 

* *

 

It’s only when I opened my eyes again that I realized the ball had landed on my head. Low budget means no protection, no junk shell for the boys, no adherent shoes, no colorful caps or solid helmets for anyone. Truth is, I had never needed one.

Until now.

I was sitting in someone’s car, which I recognized as Jean’s (the smell really helped), but the person leaning against the open door, back turned to me, wasn’t Jean at all. In fact, it wasn’t anyone I would have expected to see.

I coughed as quietly as I could but he swirled on his feet, and Levi’s somehow worried face appeared in my sight. He looked different this close and in the daylight, he looked somehow younger, but just as bored.

“I wasn’t sure you’d survive the hit,” he joked, but left no clue of it as he kept a straight and ever so serious face.

I looked around, wondering if I should laugh or even reply, and ended up awkwardly fidgeting in the seat. There was a tissue dipped in something that surely wasn’t water resting on my forehead.

“Was it that bad?” I asked, voice lower and more broken than I expected.

He shrugged, and his eyebrows relaxed at the same time.

“I couldn’t tell.” Yeah, he was down, too.

So here were we, the two misfits of this baseball game, none of us able to survive through it without getting hurt. I saw no trace of dirt or blood on Levi’s face and exposed arms, though, and if the question ever teased my lips, pride forced me to keep it in.

He must have caught my gaze, though, as he shrugged again and looked at the field where everyone was still wildly running and screaming.

“I’ll have my revenge,” he just simply said, and it took me a moment to figure it was his way of assuring he was okay.

It must have been the girl pushing him off the bleachers, the one I’d heard giggle as he fell down. With her brown hair and childish ponytail, she reminded me of Sasha.

“It’s hard to guess this girl throws _this_ hard.” I knew he was talking about Sasha and the humiliating way her ball had landed on my head. How cruel.

“I’m more fragile than I look like,” I then replied, and realized my words contained more self-mockery than I had intended.

It’s not quite that Sasha’s strong, it’s _that I am not_.

Then I regretted saying those words to him, because I didn’t particularly want to appear as weak in his eyes. Not that I really cared. The idea didn’t feel too pleasant.

There, my ego strikes again. I’m a piece of shit.

He looks away, and I think to myself: that’s it, _that’s_ the perfect moment to take your stuff and leave. But I don’t, and every second I spend sitting there is making my skin hotter.

“Did you know who I was back at the grocery store?”

There was a short silence before he looked at me.

“Yeah.” He paused, as if trying to decide which words to choose. “But I wasn’t too certain.”

“Ah.”

Needless to say we weren’t good at making conversation. I wondered how could Eren ever learn shit about him when he’s being so mysteriously calm and quiet. You don’t ask, he won’t tell.

“Now that I think about it, it makes sense to me.” He was watching get everyone running wildly on the field, and I couldn’t catch his eyes with mine to ask silent questions.

What does?

“Eren often talks about you. You seem really important.”

I didn’t like the way he’d said, like he had enough importance himself to judge the statement. He didn’t have a say in this, he never had — I’d been here all along, for Eren, for Mikasa, even when they lost Carla. I had always been there and he wasn’t there, he couldn’t care about him as much as I did. Not if he tried for a thousand years.

Of course I kept it to myself because I could feel my pride talking, my pride but also my sickening possessiveness that’d push me to show him who Eren belongs with. That was a selfish thing to do, but somehow I knew Eren would choose me over Levi, and that comforted me.

“Right. You are best friends, or something like that?”

_Something like that._

His voice was low, raspy and measured, almost made me wonder if he was trying to make me mad on purpose. But I guess he didn’t, because when I looked back at him, he was still following the match, frowning as the ball rolled on the dry grass, everyone running after it in vain.

No, definitely, he didn’t give enough of a shit to make me mad. He’s not as childish as I am.

It didn’t make me less irritated, but it did help me to relax, as I realized Levi wasn’t too different from me. Maybe that’s why I feared him so much.

I mean, for fuck’s sake. Levi was older, stronger, he was handsome, way more than I could ever dream of becoming. He had this strong jawline and those fine shoulders, and made you feel safe with the way he looked at you. Stars could be falling from the skies, he’d manage to convince you the world isn’t ending. The way he talked, although superficial and deprived of any important information, proved he was smarter than he looked like.

A soldier, hanging out with youngins, how stupid could that be? But he never quite asked for it, did he? Eren came to him. It was Eren who asked for a teacher, for a big brother, for a mentor. Eren who asked for his attention and who eventually got it.

This man must have been through more things than I can imagine. He can’t bother caring about shit like private property. That’s when I understood he appreciated me, too. At least, he tolerated me, and it felt enough.

“Childhood friends,” I finally said, hoping it’d mean what it means.

I wanted Levi to know he couldn’t take my place, and I wanted him to know I wasn’t worried about it.

Although it was fucking bullshit.

“I understand. I have childhood friends, too,” he told me with an imperceptible, ghostly smile, eyes directed towards the bleachers where the nameless people were still sitting.

So, that was it? Were we alike, in the end?

Not sure I liked this possibility.

I massaged my forehead, looked at Levi’s tense, strong back muscles, and pretended to care about the rest of the game.

 

* *

 

I lie on my bed sweating for no reason, lifelessly watching as colorless ideas pass by, and it makes me question my purpose as a being. Should I eat? Should I masturbate? Should I sleep? I can never know.

A door’s opening and I know Eren is going to the toilets. Another door, a metallic sound and I comfort myself into knowing I was right. (For what price? You don’t get rewards for shit like that.)

In the clean silence of our sleepless night, I could hear Eren piss. There were no quiet rustle, no pause in between, no slit in space and time that’d sound like he wasn’t there at all, and I figured he was naked.

It felt lonely, to breathe in the dark to the oddly lulling sound of Eren’s boring fluids going back where it belongs.

For a second, I feel like utter shit, because there’s no meaning in anything. I’m alive and the rest is absurd. Is that what I’m supposed to do, listening to Eren as he pisses with his eyes half closed, wondering how warm it’d feel to let it slide along his naked leg and stroking his balls with his other hand?

And then it’s gone, again, and I open my eyes to observe that I’m as alone as I was seconds ago. Except there’s another pause, and then I feel Eren tentatively finding his way to my sides on the somewhat humid sheets I’m lying on. He’s not as naked as I thought, casually relaxing his muscles as a thoughtful thumb teases the edge of his tight boxers, and I look away, too amazingly disgusted by everything to really care.

His shoulder brushes mine through my t-shirt, and I can feel the insane warmth coming off his body. Eren’s always been warmer than me, than anyone; and I’ve always been the one to shiver when it’s sunny. Even now, I can’t understand why we’re friends, given Eren and I have never been anything else than complete opposites.

He turns to his side and I feel his pensive eyes resting on me as his bare calf accidentally meets mine. He doesn’t budge, and I think of moving away from the touch, but I don’t.

“What are you thinking of?” he says to me, and for a moment I’m not sure what to even answer.

I could easily tell him how scared I am of the world, how horrified it makes me, but when I turn my head towards him, I say:

“Nothing.”

If he knew.

I’ve always been a lonely walker. Eren, though, hardly deals with loneliness. Maybe that’s why he’s sprawled at my sides, quietly breathing through his nose as his retinas tirelessly move everywhere, eager for life. I’ve got nothing to offer.

“How’s Levi?”

“He’s fine,” I replied. There was no lie here. Not yet. So far he hadn’t been that bad of a guy, even though hearing his name coming out of Eren’s mouth was always a slow torture.

“Do you like him?”

“Do you?”

There was a subtle undertone to my question, and I know Eren sensed it. I wasn’t being bitter, surprisingly, just absorbed by something I couldn’t explain, something dark and helpless.

He didn’t answer, but rolled back to his back, and we both stared at the ceiling for a moment. It wasn’t awkward, not unless we wanted it to be.

“Fuck you,” he then whispered, for so many reasons.

I gave him a moderate smile and his face instantly mirrored it.

Two minutes later, his nose rests on my shoulder, and I’m OK with the idea we could easily fall asleep like that. Soon, my left arm will be numb, half-buried under his, but I don’t do anything about it.

“Do you like him?” I ask in my turn, voice repeating his words with a quiet, somehow sleepy voice.

“Do you like Hitch?”

Fair enough.

We stay in silence, no answer given, comforting ourselves in the delusion that maybe, just maybe, the answers to our questions are the ones we want to hear.

We’re the scum of this world. The dreamless kids who don’t bother believing in anything anymore.

 

* *

 

I spent the night drinking cheap, fake Ice Tea from a disgustingly peachy-colored bottle. It’d always make me want to throw up, but I was too lazy and nauseous to bother making coffee, and too good for this world to just get up and drink water in the nearest sink.

I felt like taking drugs, but we didn’t have anything anymore, and I lied on my bed like some low-scum coming straight out of Trainspotting’s dizzy trips. I was clean, but I felt fucked up.

Around one in the morning, I received a text from Mikasa asking if I was sleeping yet. I said no, to which she said I needed to take Eren with me and meet up.

I could have met Annie to the beat of Rebel Girl or Sinister Kid, because believe me, she was both.

When we arrived in front of the convenience store where Mikasa had asked us to join them, she was there, somehow boringly waiting on the two ridiculous steps leading to the cheap ass store inside, whose blurry lights were awkwardly lighting the perimeter. It gave enough light to distinguish people’s features, but as the red, white and green lights alternatively flickered, everything looked ghostly and color-filtered. By Mikasa’s sides, a smaller, stone-faced girl with a fragile body and semi-long blond hair that looked white from here. Annie.

In fact, Annie didn’t have a job. Annie didn’t quite have friends. Annie didn’t like many people, either. Annie wore leather jackets and a blunt frown that left you stupid. She had a thin and tiny body, and a nose long enough for me to stare, but I believe it made all her charm. Annie didn’t smoke, but I think she’d look good doing so. Hot, even maybe.

“Thanks for coming.” Not like we’d rushed anyways, I felt like saying, thinking of Eren patiently searching for clean-passing socks as I waited by the front door.

Annie didn’t say anything, and we all stared at each other in a haze of curiosity.

“That’s Annie, by the way.”

Starting from there, the small blonde girl became Annie, and Annie later became Annie Leonhardt, which I had never heard of.

We didn’t ask why she’d wanted us to meet, since it was something Mikasa’d often do. Instead, we asked if she had bought anything with her. She raised a bottle of vodka, freshly opened ; I didn’t like vodka, but I liked to be drunk, so I took it.

After a few enthusiastic sips that gladly burned my throat as they rushed down to my neglected, rotten stomach, I handed the bottle to Eren and we somehow silently decided to go in.

The store was almost desert, except for the old lady going around in the dairy products alley, and a middle-aged, long-haired man with a hot slowly walking along the shiny bottles of wine. Surprisingly, we didn’t head to the alcohol section, instead dragged our feet everywhere, talking loudly as we easily covered the music’s volume. Annie, though, didn’t say anything.

Eren took my arm and took me to a discrete counter out of the cashier’s sight, and cackled to himself as he pointed his finger towards the bunch of cables. It didn’t take long before I got what he’d meant, and we plugged my phone to the speakers with a particularly deranged smile. Jean would have opted for porn, but I was too sober for that, and just replaced the monotonous, boring radio song with a loud punk song filled with insane drums and shouted fuck’s. I saw the old lady jump from where she was standing, immobile, as if already dead — and the man searched for the source of the problem, looking around with an angry frown.

I tried to hold back a laughter, but Eren started shaking vividly at my sides and once I heard his low, vibrating laugh brushing my ear I knew there was no point staying quiet anymore. I could hear Annie and Mikasa’s laugh, too, echoing from the back of the store.

At this moment, the cashier screamed with fury and it was our cue. Eren grabbed my phone and violently plugged it out, and we started running like mad men, wriggling wildly as the little alcohol we’d drunk started to kick in. I could feel my skin getting hotter, burning behind my ears and in the hollow of my back. The cashier followed us as he could, as loud as it was possible for a sleep-deprived, marginalized and disrespected cashier to be, and we both zigzaged between the colorful shelves, the girls running backwards and dangerously slowly towards the exit, like every second of this moment had to be savoured.

Annie stole another bottle and a bag of spiced chips on the way out. Mikasa took her hand and Eren pushed my shoulder.

The cashier ran out of the store, but stilled on the steps as we ran down the street to an imaginary _Get Found_ by Bass Drum of Death playing in my head. (Or something like Fidlar. Or Pangea. Whatever.) There was no point in leaving his store to run after wankers like us, no point in running after us at all. Nothing stolen here would ever be missed.

It’s only when we passed a closed drugstore that everyone stopped. Annie wasn’t laughing anymore, but she seemed more relaxed, like we’d somehow won our spurs.

I didn’t really know where we were, but there was a pretty big square bordered with endless stairs leading to another empty shopping street. We sat there with our bottles and our chips, Eren handed back the phone, Mikasa started rolling as she thoughtfully hummed a song, Annie sprawled herself on the steps in a surprisingly fierce manner, and I just sat there, legs spread open, elbows resting on the upper steps.

And just like that, Eren forced his way between my legs, sitting two steps lower, resting his own arms on my legs. I might have blushed if I hadn’t been red already.

“That was nice,” Eren commented, and I looked away. “We should do it again.”

I feared he’d meant tonight, but after some time, decided he hadn’t.

No, tonight I didn’t want to do anything anymore. I was pretty sure this didn’t have anything to do with Eren quietly pressing himself against me, or the pleasant warmth coming off from both the alcohol and his body. Pretty sure.

“You suck,” Mikasa teased without bothering looking down at us, eyes concentrated on the thin paper in her hands. She barely saw anything. “Don’t you think, Annie?”

We both turned to them, probably expecting her to talk. She shrugged, and with a voice that surprised me, way lower than her laughter sounded, she agreed.

“You’re all amateurs. But, that was sort of fun.” Either she wasn’t going to admit it had totally been, or she had an easy laughter. I could hardly imagine the latter. She seemed like that type of girl whose laughter is rewarding on a spiritual level. “I guess.”

For a second I thought Eren would deny the insult, but he stood still between my knees, head absentmindedly nodding like he was moving in sync with a song stuck in his head. We didn’t say much at first, but then Annie grabbed the first vodka bottle and passed it on to Mikasa, who then passed it on to us, and I knew it had been a bad idea the moment my lips touched the glass again. Good thing I didn’t care.

I watched the silent town falling asleep as I became amazed of the vodka’s powers. It might burn, and be hard to like, but it has the merit to kick in insanely fast. Soon enough, I was sweating but didn’t notice it anymore, and my hands got lost in Eren’s messy hair instead of awkwardly resting on the steps. I started playing with his strands as Eren talked, Mikasa giving short answers from time to time.

It’s only when I heard my name coming out of his mouth that I came back to reality.

“It was fucking cold outside, we were freezing, literally, but it was nice still. It snowed like fucking hell. Jean suggested building snowmen and we told him it was lame as fuck, so he asked if I’d dare jumping on the hood of a frozen car. I did, and when he tried to do it too, he just fucking exploded himself against the car. He just, he fucking rolled down and ended up face first in the snow. Not sure if the sound we’d heard was his bones breaking of the car crying.”

“Man, I wish I could have been there to see this,” Mikasa smiled before licking along the paper. “Jean’s such a loser sometimes.” He was, and she was gentle to add the sometimes.

“I filmed it.”

“Did you?” Eren asked in surprise, before Mikasa could.

“I very much did.” It was one hard thing to forget. Now it was probably lost between my porn folders and the tons of stupid memes Eren sends everyday when he takes a long shit.

“Send it to me and I’m organizing your birthday,” Mikasa told me as an encouragement.

It had been two years since I’d last somehow made a party out of my birthday. Now, none of us cared about our birthdays or the numbers of years we’d managed to survive, nobody here had the same age except Mikasa and I, and getting older was a just as normal occasion to get drunk as usual.

Mikasa offering it meant she’d really do it. That she’d do it good. Drugs snowing in hazy clouds, alcohol pouring from everywhere, music loud enough to pierce your eardrums and guarantee you a very soundless elderly life. Nothing too big, no cake, just cheap food she’d be sure I’d like. There’d be pickles and peanuts, and lots of member from the cholesterol squad. My old friends.

Okay, I will.

“Damn, this town is so ugly,” Annie whispered to herself more than anyone else. “Full of shit. So ugly.”

Not as much as balls. Balls and stuff.

There’s hardly anything uglier than a limp dick and its ball. I thought of saying this aloud but alcohol sometimes makes me even quieter, so I kept it to myself and cackled in satisfaction, vibrating against Eren’s immobile body.

Annie’s voice was rough, loud and vivid, it scorched your face if you got too close. She was always calm and firm, made it seem easy to express yourself, to be heard.

Over-bored and self-assured, Kurt had said.

We decided to go to the nearest fast food to get midnight treats, and walked there on the middle of the road, a little drunk, and definitely careless.

The pace of our march made me want to throw up but I couldn’t bring myself to ask for a slowdown.

At the counter, Marco. Marco and his tired, gentle smile, Marco and his shy, timid freckles, Marco and his friendly tone that made you feel like there was no reason to begin a war in a world like ours.

Some people can’t stand Marco. Not that he ever gets himself in trouble or has reasons to be hated, truly, most of the time people who can’t stand Marco are simply pessimists like me.

But I like him just fine. He’s calm and the furthest thing from stressful, in fact, I’m sure he’d be a great anxiety friend. Too bad I’m mediocre at making and keeping friends.

“Hi, guys,” he joyfully threw our way when we arrived, and he curiously glanced in Annie’s way. He didn’t know her, but was the type to treat her like his friend anyways. (Not that she’d care.) “Out for a midnight meal?”

Eren nodded and leaned closer to rest his elbows on the shiny counter. There was aircon in the quite empty, ghostly restaurant room, and for a moment I concentrated myself on that. Closed my eyes, enjoyed the fresh air, breathed out. When I opened them again, it was only to see Marco looking back at me as Eren kept talking.

“You okay, Armin?” he asked when Eren was finished, and although he’d somehow been ignored, Eren turned towards me as well. The girls were arguing about what to order behind me.

“Sure. I just… must have drunk a little too much, I guess.” I smiled pitifully, and waited for them to look away so I could wipe the sweat off my forehead.

That’s something I’d do way too often. Sweat by the forehead. It was pretty recent and much more dreadful, as it felt like taking a scum-filled bus with a cold pearl of sweat rolling down my back in a slowness that resembled torture.

In fact, I was lying. It wasn’t more the alcohol than the usual out factor, of passing the front door and meeting people after people. It didn’t matter if they knew me, or if they were young, or if they even cared that we existed. They were there, existing too, and it made me physically unable to function. Weird, huh? How ironic for a misanthropist like me to despise people’s presence so much that I explode from the inside, brain first. Moron.

“A cheeseburger,” Eren said after a short hesitation and a glance my way. I knew he was ordering for me.

Fortunately, he knew me well enough. The contrary would have made me uneasy even more. Not that it was a difficult thing to do anyways.

“Give us two Royals and a Deluxe.” Marco asked something, he nodded. “Yeah, with that. Giant size.”

Mikasa walked past me to order in her turn and her hair brushed my shoulder. The touch left me shivering, and it was enough to come back to reality. Annie was standing beside me, staring at me from the side as she faced the counter. I could have thought she was worrying, but I knew she wasn’t — she was simply wondering what I was thinking about, what the fuck was happening to me, but too proud to even think of asking. Of course she didn’t. I wouldn’t have, either.

I met her eyes. For a second or two, we looked at each other in silence. Then she looked away, almost boringly; but I knew it was just the way she would do anything.

Mikasa turned. “Royal?”

“Sure.” And, after a while, “No drink.”

I was almost sure she’d slightly grin and raise the transparent bottle she was holding in her hand and say “Got everything I need here”, but she stood still and waited. That was almost disappointing.

“We should meet soon. All of us,” Marco suggested, and although I got annoyed at the idea of having to shower, leave my room and be talkative for a whole night, I enjoyed the idea just as much. Usually those kinds of nights often resulted in me too drunk to care, or on a different point of view, drunk enough to bother. Bother talking, bother touching. Existing, pretty much.

“Well not like we’re going anywhere,” I replied from behind Eren and Mikasa.

“Annie should come too,” Mikasa then suggested herself as if Annie couldn’t talk on her own. Surely, she wouldn’t have invited herself, and I doubted she even wanted to come.

“Surely.”

I eyed her, suspecting she was being sarcastic. She left no trace for me to figure it out. I wondered if Annie was like me, deeply affected by every single thing going wrong on this Earth, quietly wanting to go home and feel safe again. It’s not that she didn’t feel safe, actually she looked like she could beat anyone’s crazy ass. But quiet girls like Annie must think a lot, up there, to compensate.

The sudden realization woke me up, and I decided I liked Annie.

She seemed more civilized than the rest of us. Because at the end of the day we’re all naïve, selfish motherfuckers getting high on consumption and conflict. We’re all dreaming of this nice job, nice wife, nice house thing. We’re all fucking sedated on our own because we’re too scared to realize we’re just as meaningless as we were told once. Fucking scared to realize we’re working for an institution, paying it, wrecking yourself on Oxycontin for it like a modern slave willingly self-destructive.

Sometimes I wish I had Oxycontin. I wonder if there’s some on Amazon.

But I’m still a naïve, selfish motherfucker. I drink my hot chocolates in an orange cup because I’ve been told it tastes better. There’s no hope left, for anyone.

Except for Annie, maybe.

She doesn’t even seem like she knows about trends and fashion. She’s just like Eren, just like me, throwing tasteless clothes on herself as if it was a painful chore to do. She had a large leather jacket and dark materials. Annie looked good because she didn’t care.

“Where are we going?” Eren asked after a while, and I realized the conversation had been going in the meantime.

Annie had moved forward slightly, keeping a noticeable distance between her and the rest of the world as Eren didn’t seem to get any further from Marco. Eren had this tendency to, you know, get real and tactile.

Basic internet science says it’s the worst to keep overthinking like I do, but I’m fine with it. I get people more, this way.

“Back home?”

“No, outside.”

“Huh, we do have a terrace.”

“Yeah more like a landing,” Mikasa mocked. I caught a glimpse of Eren sighing.

“Your flat then?” he suggested, quite exasperated.

“Penal colony?” she replied, just as impatient. “Come on.”

“Why not back where we were?”

I didn’t say anything, and finally, Annie did.

“I want grass.”

That’s all it took. Annie, somehow, had made everyone agree with a quick glance, and I couldn’t quite tell if it was because they didn’t want to refuse her something, or if they’d realized they wanted grass, too.

So we went to the local park and walked our way through it, silently, as there was hardly anyone to be seen around. From time to time, a quiet couple walking hand in hand, or a single mother going back home after a long day of work by taking the creepy shortcut. In the daylight, this place was friendly, children-filled and welcoming ; at night, it felt like the right kind of people were drug dealers, lonely souls like us and drunken jobless divorcees crying on a bench. The streetlights were barely shining anymore, and we had this tiny intimate space for just us.

We sat in front of a statue that looked massively black in the darkness, and as my palms met the kind of wet grass, I started relaxing again. There was nothing better than nature for that, which had always bugged me, as I wasn’t the nature type by default. I liked seas, and plains, and endless skies. But I hated being outside of my comfort zone, surrounded by unknown insects and wicked people.

In the night time, though, there was nothing to fear. I couldn’t see, only feel.

Annie and Mikasa sat like little girls facing each other and for a moment I expected them to start clapping their hands in rhythm like those playground games of another time. Yeah, that’s the feeling of getting old.

As for us, we just sprawled ourselves on the grass, gazing at the half-visible sky through the dark leaves of the surrounding trees. There weren’t many stars to be seen anymore, but the light the moon gave us was enough to make for a good sight.

“That’s nice going out with you.” He paused, noticing the awkward double-sense of it, and went on with a clumsy voice. He wasn’t looking at me but I could tell he was confused. “I mean just the two of us.”

It was even less logical as Mikasa and her friend were sitting two feet away from here, talking calmly about who knows what, but I didn’t protest. I knew what he’d meant anyways.

“Yeah, feels like we can’t do this as much as we used to anymore.”

And I was right. How many times I had been craving this kind of night? Sleepy, but quite drunk, quite lost and careless, out in the dark and fresh air, barely doing anything else than complaining about the world?

Even as kids. I tend to think we’ll never be as free as we were, no matter the situation. It’s my biggest regret.

I thought about my parents, university, my shit job, my non-existent friends, my meaningless and nonsensical existence in this world. My problems weren’t much compared to the rest of the earth, and in the dark of the night, they were instantly shut down. It left more place for this feeling of vague drunkeness, of usual, passive lust, and an inner peace I rarely welcomed.

We passed the paper bags and one after the other took our stuff. Five minutes later Eren had almost finished eating, and I was enjoying this cheeseburger like it’d be the last.

I mean, fast food is a cancer to our society because it’s so greasy, so full of chemicals we don’t even know shit about, so unhealthy — but it’s so fucking good. I’ve always wondered why it tastes so good to take a bite off a capitalist cheeseburger (as Hitch’s parents would say, probably). But people like me eat their cheeseburgers like they buy their iPhone; they try not to think about the consequences because they can’t change shit anyways.

And it’s true. I can’t do anything about Chinese people working in terrible conditions just for the short happiness of some basic, dreamless, modern American dude like me.

I often wish I could say I’m engaged in something. Ecology, social rights, gender equality, anti-racism, a system that’d work for the whole planet without killing people for money. But I’m not that kind of guy. I’m too dark for this. My goals are non-existent and my hopes are just as tiny as I am in the grand scheme of things.

“Remind me to thank Marco for this…” Eren trailed off by himself, lying down with the rest of his fries although I’d always been told this position can actually kill you.

I also felt like pointing out the fact that Marco was only the cashier, but it appeared to me as useless effort.

Wasn’t worth it.

A minute later I was thinking about Grisha, my parents, and everybody else old enough to be considered real adults. I was sure it’s not the kind of life I wanted, because it’s that time of your life where you’re expected to be the most reponsible and logical, to have a family, to pay your bills, to buy a car and get rid of your debts before dying, which nobody ever fucking manages to do. There’s no fun in that, because you’re obsessed with those little things, with money, with fiding something before being too old, that you forget why you’re here in the first place.

I wish I could say I’m able to save people from the invisible hand. But I’m not. Nobody is.

When you’re young, you don’t want that. You want sex in the hallways and free t-shirts. You want to sit in the grass in the middle of the night with fast food in your hands, not thinking about anything. Because thinking in our fucked up, postmodern society irremediably leads to depression.

Sometimes I lie on my bed and wonder why everyone’s working for the system. A system which appears not to give a shit, not anymore.

“Do you know what Jean did the other day?”

Yeah, come on. Tell me how much of a scumbag you both are, I already know.

“Hm.”

“He took like, two trash bags from the kitchen and wrapped them all over him. Then he stood in the corner of the living room when I came home and sat there until I’d approach because of course, when I come home, the first thing I do is throw my shit on the couch and grab a drink in the kitchen, right? So yeah, he just somehow sat there in the fucking trash bags and when I walked past him, he just, you know. Scared the shit out of me. I’m pretty sure he filmed it all, but he says no.”

“Now if everyone still wonders what Jean does with his life in the middle of the day…” I grinned a little, knowing none of us were actually better.

“I know right. The worst is that he totally just, woke up and thought, right I’m gonna dress up in trash bags and wait for Eren to come home. Who does that?”

I shrugged. Jean, probably. “Are you going to take your revenge on him?”

He looked puzzled and watched the dark trees around with his narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t know… I mean I’ve done all the nice pranks already. What’s left is just… basic plastic film on the toilets or an egg above the door.”

Touché.

It’s true, they had been going at it for months, searching for the worst pranks to pull on each other. Needless to say they had plenty of imagination when it comes to that, because there’s nothing more orgasmic for them to see the other covered with flour, or screaming in horror, or pissing themselves in the moment. (It happened. Just add a bit of alcohol and wait.)

Jean had told me about his next pranks, one early morning, but deeply gazing down in my coffee mug, I must admit I didn’t listen too much. I’m not a good friend for this, because being a spy could really save his life sometimes. Pretty sure he’d told me about showers.

Not gonna tell Eren not to shower ever again, though. I mean it’s not that useful either way, since Eren only showers when he’s forced to meet people other than me or Jean. And Mikasa, to some extent.

“I wish I could help but I’m a pacifist,” I joked as I relaxed against the statue’s base, looking up at the barely-visible sky through layers of branches and the leaves that weren’t already on the ground.

“Honey, shut the fuck up,” he replied with a light voice, because we both knew I liked to be the neutral judge of their horrible contest, watching from afar as they got fucked up for fun.

There was a period during which Eren didn’t brush his teeth anymore because he feared Jean would replace his toothpaste with something else. One day, Eren was going crazy because of his inner paranoia, and stole the neighour’s dog’s crap to hide it deep inside Jean’s shoes. At 8 AM, on a Thursday, it sounded obvious Jean had made the sweet discovery of Eren’s not-too-brilliant idea, and not the pleasant way.

“I’ll just… pray for you, I guess.” I whispered as grabbed the vodka bottle Mikasa was handing to me, and took a few respectable sips.

Eren took it in his turn, and bottle two centimeters away from his lips, he gave me a peaceful look, tender and relaxed, somehow smiling before drinking as well, “Thanks for nothing Armout.”

 

* *

 

When we left, we split in two. Mikasa and Annie went back to where we’d met them, shoulders absentmindedly brushing in the night, while Eren and I took the other way. Quicker.

He didn’t say much, as we were both drunk enough for words to be hard to form. Instead, Eren hummed a song neither of us liked and I accompanied as I slapped my thighs in rhythm. When I almost fell, he grabbed my arm in extremis — five minutes later it was his turn and my reflexes weren’t quick enough.

He lied on the humid road by himself, sprawled and grunting, as I laughed to tears at the sight.

We sat on the sidewalk, trying to get sober enough to go home, and waited peacefully for a few minutes, without a word, looking like two lost assholes wondering that to do with their lives.

It’s only when we walked up the small stairs of our front porch that I realized I would have gladly stayed with him a little longer.

 

* * *

 

I woke up wanting to die and forced myself to calm the fuck down. I sat on the edge of my bed and checked the hour on my phone. In less than twenty minutes, I had to be at uni for a german course I hadn’t attended in weeks. (As if it wasn’t enough, I knew too well that sitting at the front row made me easy to spot — rather, my absence.) If Eren accepted to drive me there, as Jean was no lucid option (I wasn’t that naïve or desperate), I could get there in time and with the least anxiety. No bus. No people. No meds.

Fuck that.

I got up five minutes later and took the white and blue pill, staring at the tiny thing for as I long as I could before swallowing it hardly.

After that, my mind sort of fell asleep. I didn’t look at the reflecting surfaces because I didn’t want to see my face; I forced my breathing to slow down until I could no longer feel the blood pumping in my ears; I marched calmly as if nothing was important, ever. No more.

I put a long t-shirt over my underpants to go on a trip downstairs, just to bring the orange juice bottle back with me. Lost on my messy sheets, I drank sip after sip, wincing at the disgusting taste. Checked the date. Expired by a week.

Well.

Eren hadn’t slept yet, which made it easier to convince him. It didn’t take much, actually, and I guess he thought he didn’t have much better to do. He stopped the car right in front of the huge place before the university, and turned to me as if waiting for me to say something. I looked back, slightly irritated by the gaze, pretty sure deep down in my guts that this day couldn’t get any worse.

“So?”

“So what?”

For a second I thought he was going to ask me if I planned to get out of his car, but he didn’t. He simply turned the engine off and relaxed in his seat. He wasn’t supposed to park it here, but apparently none of us were going to give a shit about that.

“Do you wanna skip the lesson?”

That was something he’d rarely offered before, and I knew it was important. It had some kind of importance. Still, I looked outside where a few students were already lazily dragging their feet inside. God did I want to say yes. I did, I really did — but I turned to Eren and shook my head. If I was going to skip this lesson, I was fucked.

I was close to drop out, but not close enough to give up on it for good. I think deep inside I was entertaining the slight hope of liking college again, if I ever did love it.

“Thanks, man. But I’ll pass. I really need to go, otherwise I can say goodbye to whatever so-called degree I’m supposed to get.”

I almost added it was important for my parents, but went quiet as I realized I didn’t want to bring up my parents with him. Not that he wouldn’t understand — Grisha was a good father, he was understanding and always tried, no matter what, but I knew things were different. Even if they hadn’t been, I would have still been quiet, because right here, right now, I didn’t want to talk about anything.

Actually, forming words felt like pure physical and psychological torture. I hated those mornings.

“Sure. As you want, Armin.”

I knew placing my name right at the end of a sentence meant no good. I knew Eren was trying to convince me I was doing shit, and I most likely was. I knew he was stating the unstated, telling me with a tired blink all that I already knew.

We looked at each other for a second, which floated around awkwardly as I began hesitating, but opened the door and carelessly closed it behind me.

Through the semi-open window, I heard him call, “Have fun,” but didn’t reply. In fact, I didn’t even turn back.

An hour later, I was sitting next to Thomas in one of the identical amphitheatres. Our teacher had one of these really boring, low and lulling voices, which comforted my idea of wanting to leave this earth right here and then.

Thomas was a nice guy, with a nice family and nice ideals. I guess he’s one of those dreamers who don’t feel brave enough to change the world, but try to make it a better place still. Sometimes, being with Thomas reminds me why I’m such a deeply pessimistic asshole. Sometimes, he actually manages to step on my dark thoughts and fill it with vague pictures of what he’s trying to say.

“…so he told me I could go there anytime if I wanted.” He smiled with those quiet, whispered words as he pretended to look at the teacher a dozen of rows lower, somehow waving his hands around to keep students awake.

I watched from the side as Thomas leaned in and grabbed his bottle of water, barely caring enough anymore to listen and type. I wasn’t typing, either — I had stopped trying after checking my mails three times in twenty minutes and opening a brower to check the weather and temperature, although I knew damn well what they were like.

But then a rasping loud sound flayed the silence and a few irritated heads turned in our direction. We were one of the highest rows, way behind, safe enough to talk about week-ends, pizza or the latest Iron Man movie, whatever. We were considered present but unheeding enough to appear as bums.

Thomas was red, coughing so violently I straightened up in my seat, ready to move if needed (although I can’t say why I would).

“Are you sick?”

He gave a look, tried to reply and coughed even harder. I didn’t do the ugly back-slapping thing, half-friendly, half-mocking everyone always does, just waited for it to go silent again. And eventually, it did.

“No, just choked on my water.”

I brought a smile to my face as Thomas was crying from it, and he started laughing in his turn, as we silently both decided this would be the highlight of our lesson.

As Lester Burnham says as he masturbates in his shower, it’s all downhill from here.

At the end of the lesson, the teacher told us to pass a bunch of papers around, which happened to be tests, which also happened to land out of my knowledge zone. Maybe I was clever, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to obey the school system by spoiling my nights, weeks, months, just to realize in the end the teacher hates my guts.

I filled it nonetheless, knowing I’d never needed much revising to get good grades, and that I’d probably get out of this alive. Thomas frowned the whole time, elbow resting on his closed computer, looking up and down the page nervously as if searching for an already written down answer.

We both finished an hour before the comfortably set end of the test, and gathered our stuff before hanging our papers back to the teacher, who gave us a creepy look from above his old school glasses. I knew he didn’t like us. Me, at least. He didn’t like whoever didn’t trust the system and threw their fucks flying in the air. But he’s a teacher. He should know better.

Thomas offered me lunch, and unlike Eren’s sweet proposition, I didn’t turn him down.

If I was being a piece of shit of a human being today, I wasn’t going to spit on free food for the love of god.

The weather had gotten greyer, calmer, but punctuated by a quite strong wind and a sky both visually pleasant (to me at least), and seeming about to rain. We took the bus to a few streets away, and he brought me to a warm café where apparently most of the students went.

I caught two, three familiar faces but they didn’t recognize me back, purely and simply because I never bothered to get and stay in touch with anyone. I had Thomas, it was enough, and sometimes, I’d have other friends, and it’d be enough too.

So here was I, the creepy guy who knew everyone’s shit but whose name was left dark and unknown. I might have seemed like the local hipster with my unwashed, dry-ass, shoulder-length hair, curly enough to seem cute, messy enough to seem manly, and judging by the look of some sleep-deprived customers, I didn’t look too happy, because I could just feel how much they were scrutinizing me.

The situation made me sweat. Literally. I could feel a tiny pearl of sweat rolling down my back, just like the night out with Annie. I hated public spaces and almost regretted coming here, until Thomas turned to me and got my attention again.

They were playing Tchaikovsky, which I found weird for such a modern and affordable café, but since I like Tchaikovsky, I didn’t say anything.

He took a chocolate muffin and a giant cup of grapefruit juice, and since I only liked coffee when made by myself, I only took a white chocolate cookie and some kind of iced tea. Sitting in the back appeared as an evidence, almost like a reflex, and I thought I quite appreciated Thomas for those little things we didn’t need to talk about aloud. It just was there already.

The icea was disgusting but the cookie was nice, so I ate it piece by piece, watching Thomas in silence as I proceeded to scrutinize him, too.

He was pretty handsome, although cliché in a way. His weight, height and muscles were average, but his haircut and sideburns looked somewhat overly virile, and looked weird on their own. It did suit him, somehow, and the way he looked at people made up for it anyways.

Yes, because, see, Thomas is one very pretty fucking normal guy. People like his attention because he sounds like he gives a shit. I think he really does, which makes me feel safe with him. He’s like Marco, in a way. Except Marco really believes the world can be changed, and I don’t. I’m sure Thomas doesn’t, either.

Still, Thomas is scandalously normal. He’s been in long-term relationship, lost his virginity countless times, tried extreme sports and travelled a respectable amount. He likes beer and he’s into soccer. His father wanted him to go professional but he’d stopped to go study here, although he’s never told me what’s his plan for the future. I think he doesn’t know, either.

He’s the warm friend and I’m the bitter virgin. That pretty nicely sums it up.

“I think I’m gonna change orientation next year. Our classes are nice but… I’m not feeling like it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

That, I understood.

I knew someone who’d had to try three different colleges to find the right direction. Even now, nothing’s set, nothing’s definite.

Things are easier for me, as I’ve always known these things won’t ever matter in the future. I knew no degree will define my personality, my job, the money I’ll earn. I know it’s only a way to kill time and pretend I matter. Sometimes, lost in the naïve crowd of college students, I could almost believe it too.

“Sure, that’s normal. Putting pressure on your shoulders is the stupidest thing to do ever, believe me. Just, you know, wait and see. Might come to you later.”

I was trying to help, I guess, and I knew little words were needed with guys like Thomas who believed in anything. That’s how I watched him nod and smile, look at me, at his cup, then back at me with a slight grin, as if realizing I had life all figured out.

I really didn’t, but I knew enough to take some steps backwards and contemplate the disaster of my life. It’s easier to watch from behind. The “failure floor”, so high and isolated you can almost see the Eiffel Tower. From up there, tiny people like Thomas (like me), don’t seem to matter.

Thomas was about to talk about his plans for the next holidays when my phone vibrated on the table, with Hitch’s name soberly written on the screen.

I accidentally pressed the green button too soon and rushed to the toilets. I locked the toilets’ door and looked down at the dirty ground as Hitch’s messy, panting voice came back through the phone. I didn’t know what she was doing but she was having a hard time talking.

“Armin—“ she started, like she had something to say. I didn’t give proof of my presence, just waited, like I always do. “Hey Armin,” she just said.

“Hey.”

She didn’t go on instantly but I could feel she was relieved and satisfied to hear my voice. After a while of confusing panting, she went on eventually.

“I’m in a friend’s bathroom, last night’s party was so fucking… fucked.” I smiled at her half-drunk, somewhat sleepy voice, and figured she had just woken up. It was around eleven o’clock. “Jesus, Armin… I missed you so much last night.”

I didn’t know how to answer that, given last night had been, for me, a really comfortable night. I didn’t usually miss people. I knew she hadn’t exactly missed me, though. Hitch doesn’t usually misses people either.

That’s when I realized what she was up to on the end of the line.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sincerely curious and intrigued.

“You know exactly what I’m doing, you filthy moron.”

Oh, and _I’m_ the filthy one?

She was going at it on the phone, I could feel her closer and closer and wondered how long she’d hesitated to call me. I didn’t mind.

In fact, Hitch accidentally let out a muffled moan, and tried to make the pleading sound die on her throat, which made me realize two things. If she was calling me, it was to use me, my voice and my reponses to get off and quickly reach orgasm. But she was also giving me the opportunity to participate and enjoy her voice, as well. So…

 _Eh, fuck_ , I thought before slipping a hand in my underpants.

And very lamely, I masturbated in a public toilet to Hitch’s broken breaths, Thomas still waiting alone at our table.

We came almost at the same time, gross and tired, grunting to ourselves like we didn’t quite want to be heard but didn’t quite care either, breathing hard and messy, throwing insults around, and a few seconds afterwards, Hitch ended the call without a word. I figured she didn’t want to deal with post-orgasm embarrassment and grinned as I wiped my hand on toilet paper.

Just when I opened the door, my phone vibrated again.

 _From: Hitch_  
_Come to my place tomorrow. Tx_


	10. the one with hitch's flat and two girls kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin's becoming a big boy, but he's not the only one. Featuring happy Hitch, grumpy Eren, and your average college pal slash taxi, Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Didn't think I'd ever finish this chapter. Surprisingly enough I managed to rewrite it three times and ended up mixing the two previous versions. 
> 
> Things aren't quite changing, except for Armin's relationship with Hitch, which I'm happy about because it's one necessary step for their relationship to really exist. From now on things are going to get serious, and not just concerning Hitch. I also managed to put the first bomb related to another couple, which I'm pretty sure you'd seen coming miles away anyways. I'm glad I'll finally be able to work on that couple in the next chaps. In this chapter I tried to make Armin more talkative but it's honestly SO hard because he's an introvert and mostly talks to himself. 
> 
> In summary, nothing too wild, and what hasn't been said in this chapter because of ellipses and fatally the end of the chapter will be said in the next. Which... I'll never write. Probably. My week of finals is starting and after that, I have a whole month of internship with totally not fun schedules. I'll write when I can. And sorry for the english words I probably made up. Not being a Native is a cheap excuse but well, I'm a loser.
> 
> Some people asked me where I'd been on Tumblr. I'm [here](http://oxymorts.tumblr.com) now. Roco's playlist is on Spotify with its name.

Age doesn't mean anything. It doesn't define your personality, your ability to work or your reaction through hardship.

At least that's what I tell myself as I sit on the ground in a tiny dorm room, surrounded by loud drunk students and a cruel general lack of attention. How does it feel to be the youngest in the group?

In all honesty, nobody cares about your age in college. It's not a competition anymore, there's no countdown to your next birthday (which only two of your friends will remember anyways), it's just a number changing on your CV.

That's what I've always said maybe because _I'm_ the youngest. Besides, boys like me don't grow up. They much less grow old. We simply multiply like weeds, stepped upon and neglected because we're unimportant and unnecessary to the well being of this world. Do you care about weeds? You certainly do fucking not. S'okay. I don't care 'bout weeds, either.

Everyone moves on with their lives, travels to Southern Asia, gets the job of their dream far away from their parents' home and bond with a regular sex partner — meanwhile I'm sitting in front of our broken TV mumbling how crappy this world is and convinced I'm too good for this very same world.

But alone and bored, my irregular hiccups drowned by the overwhelmingly bad music they were blasting from cheap secondhand speakers, I started to wonder if I wasn't too young and too inexperienced or just one plain socially inept freak. I'm that geometrical piece of plastic you couldn't pass through the holes of your cube game as a baby. I'm that pointless streetlight whose light has died four years ago and never got replaced. I'm that idiot who loses at a game and is forced to sit and watch the others finish it instead.

"Already zoning out, I see!" Thomas pointed out as my sight slowly focused on him. The loud and messy blur suddenly disappeared and I remembered how sweaty and uncomfortable I was. "Drank too much maybe?"

I'd love.

I shook my head. I was too bottles of vodka away from the drunken state I'd aimed at when I passed this poorly soundproofed door.

I was pretty sure I wouldn't come home wasted, and it was enough to make me feel like utter shit. Because really, gulping down three beers and every single disgusting strong cocktail you can find only to realize nothing's happening up there, it's wasted time and it's wasted energy. Straight up disappointing. I like college parties only because of free alcohol and the free opportunity to get drunk that comes with it.

I knew everyone around but I wasn't interested in forcing friendships right now. I wasn't even interested in talking at all, and must have looked as stupid and blocked as usual, looking around, face flushed and lost, brows tied in a frustrated knot and trying both to mask the embarrassment and to focus my mind on something I could possibly do. Not like my intervention was needed.

"Nah I'm okay. It's just really, really hot in here."

As I told this, a subtle drop of sweat rolled down my back. That's how hot it is.

I didn't need to say it twice as Thomas was as red as he could have been, and he went from clumsily crouching in front of me to getting up way too fast for his brains. I assumed he was going out and followed without a word. Some fresh air wouldn't do me bad.

"You wanna go home?" he asked as we opened the door, revealing a dozen of smokers packed in a tight circle outside. The garden wasn't even small. It's one weird human reflex.

"Don't worry."

And he wouldn't, really. Thomas's one of those who enjoy the party no matter what. He won't leave unless you specifically ask him to. Which is understandable, given Thomas is one furiously social person.

Thomas got a cigarette out and for a moment I stared shyly at his big fingers, wondering if I should ask for one too, or a puff, or nothing. It's amazing how being polite wins over need, fear and worry for socially anxious people like me whose parents taught them right.

My hair was glued to my neck, unpleasingly sweaty, and I cringed. The night sky was nice, the conversations were low and calming like a distant lullaby, measured. Any word I'd say wouldn't go unnoticed. It would be overheard and most importantly, unnecessary.

I'd declined the hookah inside as I'd felt sudden waves of nausea, but the feeling remained. Everything smelled bad and was too intense.

Talking about that hookah, well. After waiting for the obviously absent owner of the room for a long time, everyone realized we wouldn't be able to smoke before we'd turn off the smoke alarm. People grabbed chairs and rolled the white thingy off its ceiling, removed the battery, and the rest clapped excitedly.

An hour after that, I'd already talked to some brown-haired man whose name I didn't know for the love of God for half an hour, who actually seemed nice, and the major part of the group decided to migrate to the local, shittiest nightclub our dead-end town could contain.

Needless to say I wasn't coming, not only because nightclubs sucked here, but also because these people sucked too. They hadn't done anything bad, we could even have been friends if I'd tried harder. They were just too basic, too boring, too ignorant for me. Talking about the wrong things, pointing out the wrong details, making fun of what's fundemental and adoring what shouldn't exist. The answer to all of their useless, judging questions should be: why do you care? Do these people really think they have a say in everything and how the world's made?

Thomas and I had stayed with a smaller group who'd decided to change room and listen to music with some food and what was left of the drinks. We blindly followed some girl and nameless people I'd never seen, our shoulders brushing and bumping in pitch black.

Thomas ate three apples and I discussed music with some girl on a computer searching for good tracks on _Youtube_ , and I quickly came to the conclusion we were better here and than we'd been before.

We were calm, relaxed, sobering up if needed.

He dropped me home before I could learn that brown-haired guy's name and during the creepy ten minutes long walk by feet from the dorms to the guest parking, I pretended I'd enjoyed the whole party to avoid silence. Not that I was embarrassed to stay silent — often I was the one who subconsciously pushed others to break it because of my own comfortable silence — but the place was gloomy as hell and I swear I'd seen something move in the bushes on my right. No streetlight plus alchohol equals pissing in my (our) pants.

None of us mentioned it, but in the last meters, we were practically running to the portal.

Thomas' car was a 2006, borrowed, dust-coloured, five doors trash, but it was big. When he waved goodbye through the open window in front of my piece of shit of a front garden, it was 2:14 AM and I didn't need to push the front door to know Eren wasn't sleeping.

"So?" he asked when he heard the door. I could see the top of his head from behind the couch.

"Shitty as can be."

Silence. He knew what I meant. If Eren had gone to college, he'd be like me. Probably, we'd have been going to these parties together.

"Better luck next time, huh?" and then he turned to me, offering a tired smile from the twisted position he'd adopted so he could see me without straightening up.

I ignored his comment and went straight to the kitchen, searching for something to drink as I wiped sweat off my forehead. Fucking college parties, making you sweat more in a night than you've had in a lifetime of P.E. classes, self-loathing midnight runs and going out with fast friends.

"Hey wanna play some _Indiana Jones_?" Eren asked again as I understood his voice was getting closer, and the second after, he was sitting on a stool in front of me, arms crossed like a kid who'd been waiting for his dad to come home from work.

"I don't know…" I wasn't exactly hyped for _Indiana Jones_ but I couldn't just tell him that. Maybe I'm too polite, or maybe I didn't want to ruin his mood right away. "How about a short drive?"

I was talking about one of our multiplayer driving games from the early 2000's, but Eren was shit at these, mostly because he'd always cheat by looking at my screen and fail. So he said no and pouted.

I feared he'd decide to go to bed and masturbate, because I didn't want to be alone just yet.

"Zombies?" I then offered as I raised the worn out DVD cover of a zombie movie Jean had apparently forgotten on the kitchen island.

We laughed, but ended up considering it seriously. Ten minutes later, we were sprawled on the couch, battling with the remote to keep the sound on low whenever zombies would lose their shit. (Jean's sleep isn't particularly light, but we prefered to keep him asleep anyways.)

One of my ankles rested on his knees and the other loosely fell off the edge of the couch. Eren had his own arms lazily thrown over my ankles and we stayed like that just fine. I could feel the warmth of his palms from underneath my jeans.

"Do you know the saddest thing about zombie movies?"

"No?"

"Zombies never run. It's true, look: they're slow as fuck. But in real life? If it had to happen, then we'd be fucked, because everyone would assume they walk as slowly as you." I pathetically slapped his shoulder from where I was, but he went on nonetheless, cheeks slightly red with how serious he'd gotten. "That's a deep lie because, I'm sure they run faster than basic humans."

"And by basic humans you mean me?"

"I don't mean _you_. If I meant _you_ , it'd be too large, you know? You're far below the average."

"Fucker."

He cracked a smile, proud of himself, but I got his point. I'd never thought about this. I guess I generally stopped the thought at the evidence: if there was to be an apocalypse, I'd be one of those side characters dying in the first episode, those everyone forgets and never mention again.

Come on, let's be honest. Do you think you'd survive? The one who knows you best is yourself. I know I wouldn't survive without showers, seven pillows on my bed (if there's ever a bed) and other ways to move than walking or running, but that's just me.

"But there's one good thing about zombie apocalypses. You get to eat cans and cans of beans and to look good as fuck. Also, weapons."

I was being honest.

I love beans. As in, I ** _love_ ** beans. D'you hear me? I love it.

And also who doesn't think Michonne looks more badass than Mrs Smith, Lara Croft and Kim Possible combined? Or basically every character Angelina Jolie pays. There should be a Michonne in every zombie production.

I think I'd look good with fingerless leather gloves and dirt on my face.

"Do you have good games at Erd's?"

"Well… depends on what you consider good."

"I should stop by, someday. See what you got. I'm sure I could bring some babies home."

By babies I meant twenty years old, overused video games he'd never play, much less understand how it works. Sometimes we'd invite Connie and play video games all night but those nights never ended in a good way.

It's either me deciding I hate my existence or Jean and Eren debating on the ground, desperate to grab something that'd be the other's flesh. Or heart. Or balls.

Glad I'm more of a kid than a rival to anyone. I'm most likely to lock myself in my room for a solid entire day than kick someone in the teeth, even though I'm sure someday I'll regret it.

Knowing where to hit is more useful than knowing how to passively aggressively ignore someone.

Silence treatment, guys. The cure to every ounce of anger. (Makes you feel smart and powerful like everything's under control, that's actually far from the truth though, but let's keep it secret.)

"Yeah, and with what money?"

There was a pause during which Eren realized secondhand didn't necessarily mean cheap. For having seen each product's price before it's on the shelves, I very much know most of it is literally stolen. Stolen as in, no one should fucking pay that much for it. But they're almost always intact and it's easily considered as brand new. Brand new is closer to the original price than anything else.

"I don't know, aren't you my bank?"

"Ha ha." It wasn't amusing, not considering how poor I'd often consider myself, especially lately. I could still buy stuff on _Amazon_ whenever I felt down, just to convince myself another useless material object in my possession would brighten my day. But I was far from having a "shopping therapy" hobby. Watching Jean waste his money was the closest thing I'd even gotten to it.

"Thought so." He pretended to be disappointed and I pretended to give a fuck, because we all knew the bills had to be paid. Soon.

Soon, as in, within two days or we'd get in trouble.

Last thing I wanted was to move back to my parents' basement. Which I wouldn't since they'd rented the house to save money while they were gone. Gets money for their trips and keeps the burglars away. It'd be more like, back to my grandfather's basement. I consider it worst.

I mean grandpa's nice. He's good, he's okay. Just a little deaf and unskilled at sending emails. But come on.

"I saved my part in the beginning of the month. For once, can't be blamed. Where's yours?"

Eren looked at me like I was void, like my words hadn't been pronounced, like no sound could reach him. I knew he was trying to remember what he'd done with (or to) his money. Well, more like surviving dollars from his last pool-cleaning adventure along Jean than saved money anyways.

I knew this subject would quickly turn into a domestic fight so I looked away and Eren took the cue. No one said a word for the rest of the movie, each silently searching for something helpful to say, something to bring back the mood we had. We ended up watching some tattoo contest and I watched the TV's shadows reflecting on Eren's face as he started to drift off to sleep.

When it was clear he didn't belong to this world anymore I pushed myself off the couch and stripped in the bathroom, sad and tired in front of the full length mirror with a freshly made, scorching cup of coffee resting on the sink counter.

And then, I looked. At me.

I looked at my naked body in the mirror, and cringed, and pressed my fingertips everywhere on my ribs, cheeks, forearms. I didn't look good, there was no harmony in my body parts. My hips were sharp and my legs were two thin sticks covered with blond hairs. My shoulders looked tense with all the time spent contracting them subconsciously in public. It's only when I realized that that I relaxed the muscles, and saw how high they'd been the whole time.

My penis looked sad. It looked lifeless, and limp, and useless.

I probably have said this before but there's hardly anything uglier than a limp penis and its balls.

I thought of girls, all made of curves and delicate twisted lines, I imagined how soft their skin must be.

I thought of Hitch and decided she'd look good naked. That I looked forward seeing her naked in her bath, smoking with her eyes closed, black eyeshadow smudged on her lids as half her hair would be wet, glued to the skin of her bare neck in a funnily charming way.

I thought of Mikasa's legs the times I'd seen her in panties, the way they seemed endless and strong enough to crush my head in between her thighs. I thought of Sasha's tan skin and the way her brown, wild ponytail would caress the skin of her exposed shoulders whenever she wore dresses on sunny days.

I concluded I'd missed the opportunity to be genuinely pretty by being a guy. Guys are tolerated, they're not pretty. They can be adored, dreamed of, hyper-sexualized like girls can be but more out of fantasy than vulgarity. They can craved like a sexy rock star or a god. But no one expects them to be pretty.

Girls, though. Girls look good whatever their height, or weight, or skin color — and they don't even need to try. It's in their DNA, it's being a girl. If there's a god in this world, it's probably a woman. Girls are like sunsets: they're pretty and unreachable and they don't belong to anyone.

So here was I, regretting I was born with a penis. Don't get me wrong I love being a guy, and don't even get me started on the privileges. And god it's good to sleep shirtless. I love morning wood. I love the way it feels to stroke it through my boners. I love how casual we can seem just because we're guys. I love the fact I'm assumed to be chill, and fun, and mature.

It's different, though.

I look too young, like a plant that's not done growing. Except I pretty much think I'm done growing. I'm not too small, but I'm still smaller than Eren or Jean; as for my body, it looks like a leafless tree in winter, all sad and lanky and pale of snow and loneliness.

Then I grabbed my toothpaste and brushed my teeth under the shower as well, because I knew I wouldn't if it wasn't for the way warm water felt as it met my shoulders. It felt like drinking after a run or laying down after a busy working day.

I'm that kind of guy who rarely brushes his teeth anyways. My teeth are good, they're super fine. They just don't get the daily attention they deserve because I'm a lazy piece of shit who somehow always gets out alive of dentist appointments. But they're good.

I put my leg out of the shower and brought it back in, decided to spit in the shower and watched as the white, foaming liquid run between my feet and towards where the water converged.

Then I rinsed my brush with the shower spurt and put it on the counter. Grabbed my coffee, turned my back to the shower head and let water fall on my skull and down my hair and shoulders as the warm liquid woke my body up. My hair was wet and sticking to my face, drawing wavering lines all over my cheeks and neck, and I thought I probably looked stupid like that.

What do normal people do when they're sad? Do they take a shower to wash the sadness away, do they eat chocolate or go to sleep, thinking their pain will magically disappear when they wake up? Because no matter how many times I wash myself, it won't leave my skin. It stings. It remains in the air, thick, persistent like a bad smell, contaminating everyone who breathes it.

I'm not too sad. I'm that generally kind of sad. That late night kind of sad.

Eren's asleep, and Jean's asleep, and I don't feel like waking up anyone. Why would I? I don't want to hear anyone talk, I don't want to talk either. I'm better off alone in the shower. The sound of water splashing down the white china soothes my soul and the warmth of my cup inside my palms calms me down.

I'm not that sad. I think I should sleep.

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday it was Eren's turn to go grocery shopping and we realized we didn't have any money. As in nothing more than lonely pennies lost in forgotten jean pockets, barely enough to take the bus twice.

So we decided to go around finding afternoon jobs, so you know, we could eat. Eren and Jean called ancient employers to clean their pools, which was clearly useless as nobody used their pool this time of the year, and I called Erd to ask if I could get an evening shift today.

Then we checked on the Internet and sent some texts to acquaintances, both to ask if they could lend us some dollars and if they knew where we could apply. Afterwards Jean and Eren crashed on the sofa to pray some imaginary god while destroying the last bag of chips we had.

I rubbed my eyes, assumed we'd eat pasta tonight, wondered who would have to cook it. Probably me.

I sat on a stool and relaxed, thoughts traveling hundred miles an hour.

There's only one thing I don't wanna see dying. Starts with free, ends with dom.

Because you can buy anything, but when you're a broke loser like me, once it's gone, you never get it back. Everything gets labelled with a price, some stake at the end of the game. Girlfriends mean financial and mental downsides — although most of us depend on them more than the contrary — because, _yes_ , a girlfriend will _fuck_ you _up_ , and anything other than that will just plainly makes you lose your head.

I'd gladly say fuck the system but I like sex too much.

Maybe if tomorrow I wake up without a dick I'll exile myself on a desert island to do my things and learn how to live freely. But for now, I'm a guilty resident of society, passive member of consumption, living to buy and buying to live, clicking on _Pornhub_ thumbnails to forget how miserable my life is.

And that's what advertisement does. That's how it works, too. The unvisible ropes and mechanisms of sadistic, selfish ad agencies growning in green bills and cocaïne, they're the farmers to our dense sheep existence, leading us exactly where they want us to be led, whipsering in our ears what to spend the money we don't have on, just for things we don't need. Tyler Durden said that. They decide today what you'll want tomorrow, and there are only two safe exits. Exile, or death.

I'm too scared for one and too bored for the other. Life of bottomless consumption here I come.

It's true though, I'm the first to criticize society but I don't have the balls to leave it. It's in my DNA.

For people like me, the right freedom isn't a plausible goal in any way, so we reduce our aims to small things. To us the only kind of freedom we can have is to evolve in our mindfucking society but to never forget the bitter truth about people. Especially the insanely small amount of people who set the rules for the rest of the pack.

You can call me anything but I'm not naïve. I, at least, can give myself that. Maybe it's why I'm so awkward in parties.

I looked around at the sound of Jean and Eren discussing the quality of a reality TV show on screen, and I had to go out. Where? I only had one place to go to in this very moment.

"Hi," Hitch smiled when I opened the door. She's been there for a while but she won't tell.

I look around at the immobile landscape of my neighbourhood, and nothing seems to be alive anymore, not even myself. It's cold, and I don't want to go outside, but everything's better than staying in the choking, air-deprived space of my bedroom.

Hitch doesn't seem particularly happy or annoyed, she's just kind of there, but I know my presence right here and now must have been a goddamn miracle for her. With me, she's relaxed, careless and fun. Alone, she's the kind to feel her heartbeats getting quicker with frustration and force her fingers to crack until she'd break one.

"Dressed to kill, I see," she commented and I gave myself a quick look.

I had Eren's old white and blue snakers, dark jeans that had more holes than material, and an ugly Christmas sweater I naïvely convinced myself would be enough to keep me warm.

Nothing too big, but she's joking, I see; in her eyes, the slight gleam of her retina reflects how ridiculous we are.

"We never know," I replied, and thought of all the times I went to school with the clothes I'd slept in.

We got to Hitch's apartment as planned by texts ten minutes earlier, and by the time we arrived, I couldn't feel my fingers. But when we entered the safe and warm space of her flat, it's almost worth it. Hitch lives in a big building full of college students in debt, of single mothers and weird dudes who probably deal soft drugs.

There were band posters plastered everywhere on the walls, a small and mute TV turned on in the corner, resting right on the ground, and two couches full of holes and stains. I feel at home.

Her fur coat slid off her shoulders and she caught it as it fell to throw it on a chair, then Hitch disappeared through one of the three doors I could see. It's small, but it's enough, and it's right in my range of expectations and tolerance. Most people can't leave in such a place, but I'm fine. It reflects my lifestyle and what I'm aiming in life.

"My roommate's not here," she called from what I assumed was her room, and for a second I stood there hesitating to move forward, holding my breath to pretend the three floors of stairs hadn't done me shit.

As she came back in the living room, disgracefully throwing her shoes off her feet, I couldn't help but to realize how feminine Hitch dressed, contrarily to her manners. She's got man manners. Rough, frank. She's wild, borderline rude and politically uncorrect, so much it's always a risk to show up in public with her. Oddly, I like it with her.

"Want some drink?" she offered and although I was thirsty, I nodded my head no. I could wait.

She looked at me without a word or two, and the silence's blatantly obvious, but it's not awkward. I was forced to admit my presence here didn't mean anything, but that we were about to, I don't know, try girl-on-boy stuff.

I'll never say I'm scared, but I'm scared. Somehow.

Not quite of intimacy, because I'm safe with Hitch, she's of my own species, she _gets_ me on a deep level. But to discover I hate sex. And it's not true, I _love_ sex, I think. In theory. I love sex with myself, I love sex on a screen, sex that doesn't require another one's presence, I cherish it like an unattainable dream. And now that I thought I was about to get laid, I wondered if it's as good as people say. Because if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that people exaggerate _a lot_.

Hyperboles are to perception what oxygen is to air.

If I come to the conclusion I don't like girls, I'm fucked. Fucked as in, I won't have anything left for me in this world.

"Didn't you say he was an asshole?" From the deep dark parts of my memory, I wasn't exactly sure she'd said that. But I was trying to throw a subject on the table, so here's a way.

"Mmm, whatever," she hummed from the kitchen and I slowly joined her. "Lately he's just been… on my nerves, I guess, you know what I mean."

There wasn't any hidden message in this, but she was aware I knew perfectly what it felt to be annoyed by people we normally like.

There are days talking to Eren makes me sick. There are days I'd rather jump off my window than reply to any empty small talk thrown my way.

Some days you're just too quiet for this world.

Not enough people realize that. Hitch does.

"Yeah." I turned around in the room, exploring the little there was to explore, going back where I'd started in less than a minute. Meanwhile, Hitch took a beer out of the fridge and opened all her drawers to get a bottle-opener. "Your living room's nice."

"Wait 'til you see my room," she replied after noticing what had attracted my attention. It was a small square on the originally beige painted wall, in which she had used spray paint, just like the skate park. "Draw ridiculously on a paper, and I'll think it's hideous. End of story. Draw ridiculously on a wall, and it's art to me."

I get that.

There were tons of CD piled up near the first couch and I wondered if she'd ever bought it at Erd's store, since it was pretty close and pretty affordable for what it was. In the music alley, at least. Blindly, I thought of offering her a job, thinking she'd fit the role very much, and it'd suddenly get less boring for me, but I kept it in just to be sure.

"So when are you leaving town?" I teased, bitter with how much I hated it here, and she chuckled.

But I wasn't sad, I knew I'd hate it anywhere. At least I had my friends here. My parents were away and I didn't have as many responsibilities as I could have had.

"Not any time soon." After a pause, she opened the last drawer, and her face got clearer as she found what she'd been looking for. Once the beer was open, she came to me and sighed. "Let's say my options are… pretty reduced, lately."

I'd thought she'd stop next to me and lead me to the couch, but instead put the cold beer in my hands after taking a good sip, and walked to her bedroom. Common sense told me to follow her and when I found her sitting on her bed, decided I'd done good.

What, now? Was I supposed to go and kiss her? Was she expecting me to strip her off and turn into the sexual god you can only meet in fake studio porn? Because that's true, no man is ever as skilled at it as women expect them to be. Such a shame.

Lamely, I sat by her sides, hoping she'd give a clue as for what she was waiting for. I took a sip, somehow, and she grabbed the bottle to take another one, and then there were no attractive catch phrases, no sexy craving look, no smooth touch — we just kissed.

I'd known from the start what Hitch and I would be like. Simple, realistic, fun because we'd be honest, and it felt good to stay true to me even when she was pressing her lips to mine. This girl didn't have more expectations than I had, she wasn't constantly blinded by advertisements, nice quotes and romcom movies. She wasn't this kind of person to run after shit that doesn't exist.

She put the beer on the ground and I realized her bed was just made out of two thick mattrees piled up. There was spray paint on the walls in between pictures and posters mostly from punk local concerts of bands nobody else knew. "Fuck" was written in big fat black letters above her bed. How ironical.

I kissed her back and even pushed the thing to a hand on the back of her head. Her hair was tied in a loose, probably one-day-and-one-night old bun, and my fingertips got caught in the caramel mess of strands.

Outside her building, we could distinctly hear the unmistakeable sound of people shooting in metal cans and shouting in the street from an end to another stuff we couldn't understand. A different neighbourhood, but it's OK. I liked the atmosphere, and the faint light passing through her window was lazy, gray and distant, there was no sun. It was 5:37 PM. (She had an alarm clock on the ground. No nightstand apparently.)

Once she'd told me there were cockroaches here, but since the owner got his Mercedes tagged and its windows broken, he called a specialist. Sweet Blattoeda friends.

None of us were really out of breath, there was no reason to be yet, but we still parted as if.

I looked at her, and she looked at me, and there was this brief moment of puzzlement and hesitation, like we weren't quite sure what to do now. I knew for a fact Hitch was more experienced than me, although it wasn't hard to be, but I was sure she'd barely done it sober and in the light of day, and certainly not with me. Not saying I'm any special. I'm just different, kinda.

A virgin and awkward kinf of different.

I bet the guys she'd done it with were strong and had a temper I don't have. I bet they guided her through all of their moves and encouraged her to be extrovert. I bet she never had to stop and ask what's the next step as he'd decide for her.

Well, here are we.

"That's _ridiculous_ ," I burst out laughing, and my eyes closed halfway in a weird sense of amusement I didn't think I'd have in such a moment.

But Hitch's teeth showed and she laughed so naturally we could almost have gotten into that stage of neverending laughter. But I felt a short rush of bravery and leaned forward, grabbed the edge of her dress to remove it as she smiled still, accepting how awkward we are as a fun way to be.

She had to get up because of the dress and stood in front of me, almost blocked in between my legs. I rolled the black material up and above her face, and a few strands left the already messy bun along with the dress.

Hitch looked down on me with her pale face, in dark underwear and black transparent tights that ended at her waist.

"I look like a girl," I said as she leaned in and removed my shirt the same say I had.

"Well, I've always wanted to try lesbian sex." She smiled, and I pulled on her wrists to make her fall on the bed, a sharp laughter bouncing on the walls as she fell.

"Fuck you," I whispered with a faint smile, cheeks somehow flushed and eyes a little lost.

Our legs were touching but I wasn't straddling her — I was above her, though. From there, my hair was falling down on her, not enough to touch her face, but enough for her to reach out and stick it behind my ears. Which I found oddly cute.

"You know I've been wondering where we could have sex for the first time, the two of us. But right now it's very cold outside and it'd suck."

I chuckled. She had a ghostly smile, like she was waiting for my reaction, hoping she'd amuse me. She did. In a weird way, because nobody had ever told me they'd been wondering where we could have sex.

We straightened up and she removed her bra as we threw cheap jokes about it.

I kissed her shoulder, bare and soft, nice to look at, and tried not to stare at her breast, although I'm sure she would have wanted me to. It was still new to me to be physically intimate to someone who wasn't my friends or my family, or a distant face in late night wet dreams. But then again, I think Hitch is my friend before we're anything else.

That's what makes it nice.

Also, it's always been obvious she cares about me as a friend, too. Sex wouldn't have any meaning, there would be no responsibility, no contract signed.

That's what makes it nice, too.

"Truly, though. If you have any idea where we could have sex, right now, I'm open to suggestions. Oh, hang on."

She jumped off the mattress and ran to what I realized was an old record player resting on two cardboards. From above her shoulder, Hitch gave me a mischievious look and I watched her naked back as she put a nameless record on.

It's only when it started playing I realized what she'd put on.

Hitch turned on her heels and started dancing as she went my way, sarcastically moving her body to a _Foreigner_ song right from the 1980's.

 _I Want To Know What Love Is_. Also called _The Longest Title After Indie Noise Ones_.

"Okay, no, wait." She was halfway between the record player and the bed, but turned to changed the record. "There's one I actually really like. Serious. I mean I like them all, somehow, but I'm not gonna have sex to _Foreigner_."

Another caramel strand fell down her neck as she changed the record, and when I was sure she'd put _Slave To Love_ or _Take My Breath Away_ , _Every Breath You Take_ started playing.

When she turned again, she was half smiling, trying to know if it bothered me or not. I didn't mind at all. In fact, it's probably the only song I like from _The Police_. Sting's good but their famous band songs have played too much on the radio.

"By the time we get it on the song will have ended. So we'll either have to stop and change songs or have a quickie on my bed."

 _A quickie?_ Sounds too familiar. How many times have I broken my fingers throwing my wrist in every way to finish before the end of a song or the right moment of a porn vid? Too many, surely. We all know what quickie means. For some quickie's the only option. Some can't wait, others can't last longer by default. Which is worst?

I knew for a fact I could last long enough. But I also knew sex with Hitch would feel different, as in, more intense.

"Okay, shit, this time's the right one," she said as she went back again and changed the record for the third time. Amused, I leaned backwards with my elbows and watched as she tried to make up her mind, and finally I recognized _Bikini Kill_ 's album cover as she took off the record.

 _Rebel Girl_ started playing only five seconds later, when Hitch was already back on the bed. She pushed me on my back and as I removed my pants as she removed her tights.

Fortunately, _Pussy Whipped_ was an entire album so we wouldn't have to stop to change songs. I wondered if she'd ever had sex to this music. I wondered if we'd still hear it in the shower. Then I stopped wondering, because I realized I was hard, Hitch sitting on me with her arms crossed on her breast, still searching for a fun way to do it.

"Really, though, bed's boring." Thoughtfully, she moved of a few centimeters backwards and I closed my eyes. I didn't know if she'd done it on purpose but it definitely felt good.

"Okay, here's a deal." I offered as I straightened up on my elbows again. "We do a boring first time on your bed so the next ones will be fun. Deal?"

She looked at me, not quite surprised, but amused, like suddenly I wasn't the same boy I was a minute ago. She lifted her eyebrow and accepted my open palm.

"Deal," she shook my hand.

But she didn't let go of it and led my palm to her breast.

"You, my son, have no idea how to have fun. It's okay, I'm not mad. I'll show you because I'm generous."

 

* * *

 

"These are disgusting," Hitch sighed as she placed her cigarette back between her lips.

We were both naked, lying on her sheets with our limbs tangled up, sharing a cheap cigarette to shoegaze tunes on the stereo. I'd discovered Hitch was about as fan of music as I was, that she'd never had sex with her socks on (and apparently, an article had proved socks on brought more pleasure, so we'd promised to try it someday), and that her rommate never watched porn.

She wasn't even sure he had _once_.

"Why do you smoke them, then?"

"They're the only ones I could afford. Ah no, wait, not these ones. These ones I found them in a party. Somebody had forgotten a whole pack, barely started, so I figured I'd give it a better use than Hannah."

"Hannah?"

"The flat owner. It was a party, about, five days ago." I listened to her in silence, accepting the cigarette whenever she'd offer it, looking at the white ceiling and its subtle cracks. "She's dating that guy, Franz I think. And they're… _so cheesy_. I never want to be like that. I mean they're cool and stuff but… I don't know. I guess that type of relationship just isn't for me."

And once again, I get it.

Hitch wouldn't give cute nicknames to her partner. She wouldn't go on restaurant dates or to the movies because it's conventionally what dates are. She wouldn't sacrifice her job, her dreams, her friends for someone, she wouldn't be that loving woman who stops working to raise children while her husband's fucking his new secretary.

I'm extrapolating, and maybe exaggerating a bit. But here's the idea.

"I'm glad Connie and Sash aren't like that. Like, they can't be whoever they want it's none of my business… but they're our friends and they're often at home and we often go to theirs and shit like that. In high school I had a girl friend who dated this complete asshole, he had good grades so he thought he was smart and treated her like shit. But she thought he was everything to her so she'd do everything he said and everytime there'd be a problem she'd come to me and say he was mean. I may be stupid, but I never got why she never followed my advice."

"What was your advice?" she asked, amused as she asked for the cigarette back.

" _Dump this piece of shit of a boyfriend_."

She chuckled lightly, and nodded in the pillow. I think we've all had one friend like that.

I've been told once that it's because I don't know real love yet. That the circumstances have never been the same for me. That, maybe, just maybe, I don't care the same. And I admit it. But no one should have to endure this for the sake of a relationship, no matter how in love.

Suddenly, she straightened up and threw her legs off the bed.

"Get up, my rommate's soon home."

"You really care that he'd see us?"

"I don't." She turned, half a smile on a her lips. "But I don't wanna see him. Let's go out."

We ate cereals naked on her couch, her legs on mine like I'd never been prude, then we went to the toilets and she pissed, brushing her hair as she did her business. Meanwhile I washed my face in the very same room.

In her bedroom, I threw her bra at her and she threw my boxers at me, discussing where we could go. I felt like going where no one was, some quiet lonely place we'd be tranquil at. Somehow we decided to go buy something to eat and stop at the skate park. With this cold, no chance to find any skater around. My generation of skaters were either far away from here or stuck at home.

Hitch bought sushis and a box of chocolate, and I took the bag in counterpart. We walked close to each other, not quite holding hands, but mentally connected. She talked about the crappy week she'd had and how she has hoping the next days would be better, and gave a hint today had been quite fine. I realized I wasn't a virgin anymore. And, disappointed, decided it was no big deal. I was just happy we'd made it.

Then I told her about Eren's obsessions for that soldier guy, Levi, and how I'd met him at our improvised baseball game. I told her how I wanted to see Ymir, because that girl is as fun as it's possible to be in this world. The conversation stopped on my suggestion to meet with my friends, someday. Get to know them. It sounded too formal, like meeting my parents, but she accepted.

When we turned around the big painted wall, though, the skate park wasn't deserted. There weren't any skaters, so I'd been right — but in the middle of it all, on Mikasa, me and Eren's usual ramp, two girls were kissing each other.

Hitch didn't recognize them, offered to go somewhere else instead. But I _did_ recognize them. Up on the ramp, covered with layers of leather and audacity, Annie was kissing another girl.


	11. the one with bleach and queer kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesbians! feat. Boring Jobs and Post-Prank Alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly thought I'd never be able to finish this chapter. I'm such a desperate case. But OK, let's go with that, the beginning of some really obvious awkward pining, which I've been craving. 
> 
> More Annie, a little bit of Jean, but a fuck load of Armin being cynical and true to himself. Lots of songs but it's not quite namedropping, there's always music in the house, so it's unavoidable. 
> 
> This chapter was full of working people and responsibilities (even though it doesn't look like it) but I'm charging my batteries for a better chapter. Gonna try and make things move.
> 
> [oxymorts](http://oxymorts.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

9 AM. 9 AM and I couldn't sleep for the love of god. Exactly 9:08 AM. 

The sun would have been up on a normal day, but we were in late October and everything was gray. The sky, the streets, the wind. I'd have killed for some rain. 

Anxiety was kicking in and I felt overwhelmed. I took two blue and white pills, gulping them down like it was the cure for cancer, although I knew they wouldn't do much. Meds rarely helped, they rarely did anything at all. But I wish I had sleeping pills. 

I'm not gonna be the one to explain what happens when it's 9 AM and you haven't slept yet. Maybe you've watched too many movies despite their piece of shit quality because you're scared to close your eyes and have to wake up and face your responsibilities the day after. Maybe you've subconsciously put off your sleeping schedules because _fuck_ that.

So yes, pretty expectedly, I started wandering off. First I thought of Mikasa, and something weird fell down my throat. Some kind of regret, and not quite worry, but the brutal realization that we weren't those lonely, ignorant kids back in middle school.

Then I thought of Eren, of my parents, of everything I'd carefully ignored over the past few days, or weeks. When anxiety strikes like that, it's hard to fight. And I didn't, instead, I rolled over to my sides and hugged some big piece of sheets in my arms. When I was a kid, I used to sleep with a pillow against me, to give the illusion I wasn't alone, but in reality I've never quite slept with someone. Not intimately. I've slept with Eren and Mikasa countless of times, but I've never run my arm over to bring a warm body against my chest. And no arm ever ran over me, that's for sure.

There are some things who demand more courage than others. I believe that sleeping with someone is like gay sex for both genders: it's intimate. People like me can rarely abandon themselves at early stages, maybe that's why I was thankful Hitch hadn't asked me to stay. What would have I done? Would she have asked for me to hug her like those soft pillows? 

Intimacy requires a high level of trust. It's like embracing your flaws and stepping over all the walls you've ever built starting from the day you were born. Nothing stops the world from reaching you, and it's terrifying to be exposed and metaphorically naked like that. But then again, there are two types of trust and "safety". 

I feel safe with Eren, I feel safe because I know that if I decided to run away from this world he'd follow me. What does that mean, though? I don't know yet. Certainly not suicide, suicide's for people who don't fear anything. There isn't a second passing where I don't get scared. I'm literally petrified, horrified by how temporary everything is, myself included, how difficult it still is to live in such a fucked up society where the most superficial things allow to label you as a good human or not. Mostly things we don't choose or control, things we deeply hate in our guts. Your money. Your race. Gender. Job. Your friends, family, your dreams. 

And Eren, he's acting tough but his insides are always burning for something he cannot explain. There's always anger, desire, fear, emotions he'll try to shut off, eventually, and he will fail to do so, eventually.

No I'm not suicidal, but I sometimes wish I was. How peaceful could it feel to gulp down a bottle of painless pills, lie on a comfortable bed and slowly feel yourself dozzing off for good without anything in this shitty world holding you back anymore? We're all afraid to die because things still hold us back. The moments we haven't lived, the people we care about. It doesn't matter who or when, if you're afraid to die, there's something bugging you deep inside, something you're not quite ready to let go of. That's how good family fathers sacrifice themselves in horrible deadly situations, how lonely people hold guns against their temples and shoot. 

I wouldn't. For anyone. There are things holding me back, but I'm also a very extraordinarily selfish human being. But I guess it's the best way to survive nowadays.

Truth is I won't always stand up for people in need because I'm afraid, and most importantly, because I know it won't change anything. I won't do any difference. Me getting beaten up or isolated won't make this shitty person less shitty or bring sudden common sense to someone who really fucking needs it. It just won't! Maybe that's why I used to let myself get bullied back at school. Been there, done that. I know how meaningless and powerless you feel — but I'm aware it's the way things are, period.

Eren feels things deeply just like me. It's not that we're hypersensitive, he's just aware of those things as well. Those kinds of things that make your life heavier because the innocence is gone for good. When people look at us doing immature shit like running in shopping carts on a parking lot or smoking cigarettes on the edge of a bridge with a fresh blackeye on our face, they're wrong: it's not quite that we're immature, we're just trying to compensate. Create a balance.

 _Between The Bars_ was playing on my stereo, low enough to sound like an added soundtrack to a depressing scene in a teen drama movie. I felt gloomy. I felt hopeless, overwhelmed by the great power of things and how small I was, how unsignificant Eren, Mikasa, Jean — how unsignificant we ALL are.

Nothing a good, insane amount of food cannot temporarily cure.

In the kitchen, Eren was sitting on the counter with a cereal bowl in his hand and a full spoon in the other, an inch away from his face. I didn't feel like talking, at all. Not even bothering to give a glance his way. But he stood still, jaw immobile and eyes staring as if expecting me to say something to go on. 

I sighed. Loudly.

"What?"

A silence.

"Hi," he said.

Sure, hi. Sure, whatever.

Small talk and greetings suddenly felt so stupid to me and I realized it'd been quite some time Eren and I only shared that. Not that we were strangers now, we were just on a different plane. After all, it felt like we were growing apart from each other. I had Hitch, he had Levi. Sad fate.

"Hi," he repeated, more clearly, as if he really did think it'd make a difference. 

We both knew I wouldn't respond to that. We both knew I wouldn't laugh at his awkward attempts to make a good joke, that I wouldn't look at him unless truly necessary. I already wanted to go back to my room and curl into a ball. Physical form of an anxiety mess like me. 

Oh, didn't I tell you already? It was fucking 9 AM. 

"Slept well?" it came from afar, after a while. I'd barely grabbed the bottle of milk.

"I didn't."

"Sleep well?"

"Sleep."

Well, if that was any hint to how the conversation was going and where it headed. Eren should have stopped there, but Eren never had a good timing.

"Where were you yesterday?"

What, are you my mom? That's what the talkative version of Armin would have said. Sadly I'm even more pathetic.

I can't be the only one to be tempted by the silence treatment everytime something annoying knocks at the door. Someone you don't like? Silence treatment. Embarrassing questions? Silence treatment. Small talk and right-after-waking-up conversation attempts? Silence treatment. Eventually the message will be clear.

"I suppose if you noticed my absence that you stayed here all day." That's what I dared to give him, after the silence felt like it'd lasted too long.

"It's not like you to go out like that."

"It happens."

"Not without us?" His face changed as he said that, I could see it from here even though I didn't look. To him, it was a sort of evidence, and to me, it sounded way too pretentious. Since when did Eren possess the ultimate knowledge about me? He didn't have a say in _anything_.

"I have friends that aren't you."

"What, Hitch?" 

I thought he'd laugh, but he apparently refrained.

"How would you know what Hitch is to me."

Hitch wasn't anything other than a friend but I wasn't in the mood to call a cat a cat.

Another pause, and I knew he'd drop an Eren kind of bomb. None of us really wanted to start a fight but we're children, and children can't help it. 

"Tell me?"

This was provocation, pure and simple. He knew what he was doing to me, he knew how he'd make me talk. Not like he was an expert, but he'd done it before. Suddenly I prayed for Jean to join in. Or a hurricane. Just anything. I wanted to faint and wake up in a hospital, alone, away from here.

I didn't have to answer him, not really. I didn't owe nothing to Eren, certainly not answers. After all I considered Hitch my "private business", if I had any.

"Are you dating?" he suddenly asked, but his voice wasn't the same.

I wasn't dating Hitch. It's not dating. We're not a couple. 

We'd fucked, and maybe we'd even _have sex_ in the future. We'd connect. We'd feel each other easily. Maybe we'd even buy each other food and send sexts on Valentine's day. But still not dating.

I heard a familiar tint of Eren's bowl meeting the marble and he slid off the counter. I knew what was coming for me.

Funnily, he'd said that like it'd be a surprise. Like we'd never talked about Hitch before. He should have seen it coming, he really should have, and he knew what the answer was but he just wanted to act like a little bitch.

The occasion was too precious not to.

I thought I had a headache but I just wanted to disappear. When it came to me, my jaw tensed. 

"Did you fuck?"

Yes we fucked. We didn't make love. We **_fucked_**.

So what?

So what.

I kept silent, throat suddenly painful as I heard Eren approaching from behind. Somehow I was sure if I turned around, he'd look too angry. Too angry for what it was, too angry for him. Angry didn't suit him, yet it was a common side of him.

Only it rarely was directed against me. And I don't really think it was directed against me as a whole, but I was easy to blame. Too quiet, too reachable. And to some extent, breakable, too. He knew whatever words he'd use to shake me would cling and stay forever, no matter the importance.

"Did you?" 

At this very moment, with Eren's breath almost tickling my neck, I needed to gulp down my saliva. I held it back for a few seconds then swallowed, prayed to god it hadn't been heard miles away. 

I really should have taken sleeping pills.

He came closer and I thought he'd force me to face him. But he didn't stop and ended up leaving the room. It's only when I recognized the sound of wooden steps cracking under his weight in the stairs that I relaxed my shoulders and realized how tense I'd been the whole time.

Eren was acting like a kid being butthurt about something that surely wasn't his business. He didn't have the monopoly on Armin Arlert for all I knew. And even worse, I was acting like a child, too, because I knew damn well my own limits and how childish I would be if the roles were to be reversed.

I could have told him about what I'd seen yesterday, but I wanted to keep this for myself. I had no right to talk about something that hadn't been publicly announced before. I had no right to use someone else's privacy to cover mine.

Well, Eren probably thought the answer was yes. Perhaps he thought I wouldn't have answered no matter the question, and if it was the case, then he'd ask again later. But for now I seemed tranquil.

Maybe I should have answered. Maybe I should have said no from the start.

 

* * *

"If I see your face again I'm gonna fucking kill you!" 

That's pretty much all we'd heard for an hour or so. Approximately since Eren had showered. More precisely since he'd discovered Jean's wrongdoing as he'd looked in the mirror straight out of it.

On a scale from 1 to 10: this could have been worse.

It could, but in fact it wasn't too pretty either. Eren's hair was a mess of yellow and brownish strands with brassy orange undertones that barely had anything left of his natural colour. Where there might have been, the roots were too clear to look good. It was a disaster.

Jean had decided it was time to follow his plan and replace Eren's shampoos with the final mix he'd made out of a bleach kit. Unfortunately, he hadn't bought a dark brown dye with it, because it would have been too easy. 

And now Eren was raging out in the kitchen, going after Jean who didn't seem to be too afraid. In fact, he was red from the laughter and the tears he'd given at the same time for half an hour straight.

"I can't go out like that, I look like a fucking idiot!" 

"You do!" Jean called out from the living room, and Eren's face went as red as his.

"Bastard I'll kill you!"

I sighed, slightly amused but too thoughtful to show it. I'd spent the day sleeping in my bed until Jean's crazy laughter and Eren's just as crazy screams had woken me up. Now I was sleep-deprived, irritated and there was no chance to go back to sleep with the two of them going crazy after each other. 

I was surprised Connie hadn't joined in yet, because he sure was able to hear it from his house.

Fifteen minutes later we were all gathered around the kitchen island, drinking cheap vodka from the local store along with any basic diluent we'd find. It had seemed like the situation deserved to be discussed, and sentences had been pronounced. Jean had been declared guilty as charged and I'd been designated as the possible savior.

Why? 

Well, because Eren trusts me. And he'd accessorily asked me to bleach his hair again. 

We didn't have any hair dye and Nanaba had given him a shift for the two next days given she'd be busy with bills, and papers, that kind of stuff. He could have just worn a beanie until we'd buy hair dye, but that solution was just too easy and simple for Eren. And also we didn't have the money to buy it.

So he'd come to the conclusion it was better to fully bleach it and kill his already but partially damaged hair, pushing the danger button to its deepest. I didn't mind bleaching his hair but I'd never done that before, and I didn't want to be thrown in the same bag as Jean if I happened to fuck it up completely.

Which, by the way, I'm sure I would.

"I'm sure, come on." Jean followed the exchange between me and Eren, who'd acted like our stormy conversation had never happened. I think he was disappointed that Eren wouldn't go to work like that and exhibit his wrongdoing before everyone's eyes. "Armin you have to do this I'm not counting on Jean for shit."

"Mean…" he faked an offended face and for a second I thought Eren would slip between my fingers again.

"I wouldn't trust you to pick up my shit or change my sheets. You're too stupid for this world."

The thing about Eren is that he's in too deep, he's too intense, and sure as fuck hard to take back. Once he's lost, he's fucking lost. And Jean was no help. 

"Hey, OK, can we go back to the reason why we're all sympathetically sitting around this table? Not gonna waste the whole night on this for you two."

Jean grinned but Eren straightened up, aware of the fact I didn't seem in the greatest mood. Jean's prank had been amusing but their constant sibling type of fights were tiring me to the core. Didn't sign up for that.

"What about Connie?" 

"Are you being fucking serious? Armin what the hell, if Connie was here not only would he take pictures and leave, but he'd laugh at my stupid face for two hours. If Connie's coming over I'm shaving it all." 

"Okay then, Jean, you're banned from bleach pranks forever. As for me… I guess I'll do bleach." 

Eren didn't seem particularly relieved or surprised, as he'd known I would accept from the moment he'd asked. I simply insisted that an even worse result would only be his fault.

Bleach and alcohol wasn't the best mix but I needed that to bear their loud and neverending verbal jousting, because even with Eren sitting down on a stool in our bathroom, covered with layers of worn out towels and his smoking head cornered by my gloved hands — big thick toilet cleaning kind of gloves —, this shit kept going. Jean was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe as Eren fought not to turn his head and lose his shit. 

The bowl mix was ready and I stared at the putrid, foul-smelling liquid before plunging my fingers in. I hovered Eren's head and, in the mirror, our eyes met. 

"It's gonna be alright," I said to myself, frowning as _Queen_ 's lyrics Jean had ironically put on came to us from his room.

"More like it can't be worse," he mumbled, and Jean chuckled on the side.

I didn't like _Queen_ , but this song was okay. _Fat Bottomed Girls_ , played for Eren's beautiful eyes — and hair.

I could see Jean mimicking the guitar riff and lip-syncing as I started to haphazardly put the bleach on top of Eren's hair. I felt him tense underneath my palms, both fighting not to cry and break Jean's neck. To keep his mind busy he kept playing with his phone in his hands, and sometimes, he'd unlock it and text someone. Probably Mikasa. She wasn't answering and he kept texting again but her batteries had died.

When _Pressure_ came on by itself, Jean calmed down and decided to try some alcoholic drinks for us with vodka and whatever we'd have left in the fridge. Some of us needed it. He disappeared downstairs but the song stayed on.

"I hate this."

"Well you can do it yourself if you're not satisfied with your hairdresser," I said, maybe a little too dryly for his tastes.

"Nah, thank you, I appreciate. But this prank… I'd seen it coming weeks ago. I'm so stupid."

I looked in the mirror and stopped for a second, my fingers lost in his messy hair which no longer had the same shade. Some were already turning orange and the rest was still untouched from Jean's participation.

I tried to picture him with blond hair, fried but somehow good-looking. Pretty sure it would look good so I raised my eyebrows in puzzlment and shrugged.

"Yeah well who cares. To be honest I think it'll look nice enough."

He lifted his eyes in my direction, catching mine in our reflection. He didn't say a word, though.

Jean burst in with two glasses and I assumed, with how red he looked, that he'd already drunk his. Without a word for us but simply humming the song as it went, he put the glasses on the counter and ran to his room. 

The silence in the bathroom no longer existed after that, as Jean sang all the songs he'd put on word by word. At least it made the moment less awkward.

It was our third glass for each and my cheeks were already pink. I could stand, talk and move, but my skin burned a little and I recognized the lazy, comfortable drunken haze I was wrapped in. Eren looked thoughtful looking down at his drink as he sipped it from his straw, realized it tasted like shit, put it on the counter then changed his mind and grabbed it back, and although I was happy he didn't seem too drunk, he was way too quiet.

Not that we really cared. There were no uncomfortable silences here. Sometimes, on the passenger seat while Eren would drive, I'd realize how long it had been since I'd last spoken. Not everyone can be this silent without being self-conscious about it.

It's only when he started humming too, straw between his lips as I worked my way through his strands, that I realized he was OK. He was super OK.

Slightly drunk, and kinda bitter but ready to have fun.

Surprisingly I got it done really quick and I sort of awkwardly massaged his head to be sure there'd be no patch of hair left undone. In the mirror I caught him closing his eyes, straw falling from between his lips and twirling wildly in his glass for a second, and maybe I massaged a little longer than necessary.

After rinsing it we all agreed it'd be a good idea to try and get rid of Eren's brassy hair on the end, so I grabbed scissors and Eren closed his eyes tight.

The results were pretty charming overall: the yellow was gone, to leave more of a white-ish cold colour that'd make his face look awkwardly pale and tan at the same time, and the damaged strands were dry, pointing in all directions, freshly cut and given a new life. I never thought I'd say this but this version of Eren wasn't that bad. At least I had the pride to be his hairstylist for an hour or two.

3AM and I was already three drinks away. No measuring could ever describe how far from reality I was in this very moment. But still, I seemed happy and okay with it, and we somehow all ended up in Jean's car, moving and screaming like kids as no one would bother to buckle their belt. Sad but true.

"What do we get?"

"A burger."

"Fucker I'm asking what." 

"McDonald's of course?" Eren shook his head contradictorily, and I agreed. 

Even though I had quite a high tolerance, there was nothing in this world I then craved more than some McDonald's. I've always been seduced by their quiet secret of making good food with bad food. Truly, why are their burgers so good? Why are McDonald's french fries the only served French fries I could ever finish? Why? Who knows, as long as their McDrive is still open I'm not fighting.

"He's right…take the second exit," I warned as we approached the industrial zone. It was where all the good stuff happened to be. KFC, McDo, the rest of the world, everything gathered on this tiny territory we called home. 

But Jean didn't take the second exit.

"What the fuck are you doing—"

"Jean, fuck, why didn't you—"

"I'm not fucking going to McDonald's you guys I'm—"

"Jesus Christ get the fuck out of this car!" Eren cried out, and it was hard to see he was joking. 

"It's _MY_ car asshole!"

"Whatever?" Eren said to himself, frowning like it didn't make sense.

Meanwhile I reached for the steering wheel from behind and Jean jumped on his seat, both surprised and frustrated by the pale arms appearing around him. In total we made about three turns around the traffic circle, enough and also not straight enough to get noticed by the local policemen sitting in their car, watching as cars drove around this mount of ground and weeds.

Luckily, no policeman here's ever doing that shit. Here, they're most likely at the strip-tease club offering each other drinks for no particular reason and trying to convince themselves otherwise. They're not bad guys. Actually, they're kinda nice, especially if they're not here to arrest us.

"McDonald's it is," I grunted as I fought to keep control on the steering wheel in between Eren's neverending whining and Jean's particularly annoying attempts at pushing me away.

We took the second exit and Eren threw his head outside the window to shout in excitment. 

All of this just for a bunch of reheated burgers.

 

*     *    *

 

I told Erd I wouldn't go to school for a while, and in return he told me he'd then need me. He told me it was important and a good opportunity to show how responsible and invested in this shop I could be. In fact, it was no more but fake words and sweet talk since my presence here meant less work for him: in other words, more coffee breaks and phone calls which by the way were certainly not professional.

Fuck you Steve! Or whoever you are, for inviting Erd at the local pub exactly five minutes after he'd told me he'd give a helping hand on the work I'd been doing for him in the first place. I know, I know, I'm paid, but one can hardly buy two bags of vinegar chips with the amount I work my ass off to get.

But going to work everyday meant taking the bus —whose frequentation basically is sexually frustrated preteens and bitter old ladies who always fall on their bags full of eggs when the bus brakes— meant physical proximity to strangers and constant exposition to the real world like a book behind its store front, and more often than I'd like to admit, I'd lock myself in the backstore to sit on the seat for ten minutes straight.

Talk about adultering. What the fuck is _that_!

I'm leaning on the counter and I know at this very moment, Eren's throwing an empty box of vanilla cakes up in the air, chewing loudly as it bounces on the wall.

The phone rang and I ignored it for a few seconds, wishing it'd just simply disappear into the void. I love Erd, don't get me wrong, but I'm _not_ supposed to be here.

Finally, just when it's about to go off, I grab the phone and sigh. Internally, because I'm a good employee as far as good employees go. And _also_ because I _kinda_ wanna be paid.

"Shiganshina Secondhand hello?" 

_Hello, what can I do you for? D'you want a croissant? A blowjob, a sandwich? Can you go fuck yourself and let me die in peace? Thank you for your visit, we hope to see you soon!_

They ask for something we don't have, insist we do, I check the online base, the backroom, the shredded cardboards at my feet, they yell on me like I'm the scum of this world and I don't even have the energy to fight back. In the end, they hang up saying they'll find it somewhere else. Sure, bye, wasting my time's totally fine.

"Shiganshina Secondhand hello?" I say with my cloying wants-to-be-paid employee voice, reciting my never-ending litany as the store phone rings again. 

I was 50% sure it was the same client, and a tiny part of me sort of wished they called again to apologize, but I'm not naïve so I kept it to myself.

Instead, Ymir's raspy, long-time smoker voice answers, a few octaves lower and very much amused. 

"You sound like you're having so much fun."

Difficult to hide the post-receptionist embarrassment.

"Why do you call here?" I sighed. I was pratically certain she didn't need any vintage video game, mostly because Ymir never bothered going out to buy shit. Internet, baby!

"I heard from Jean you'd be there… You've got some boring shift or something going on?" 

Yeah, 9-19 every day kind of shift. "We could say that. So what?"

"So I'm a _good_ _friend_." The measured space between every word made me think she had something in mind, but in fact, she just wanted to flatter her own ego. I wasn't the only one being helplessly bored. "Wanna go out tonight?"

Ha, what a friend. 

"Of course what do you even ask? Fuck no, Ymir, n-o, I'm not going anywhere. If I'm ever out of here, it is." 

"That hurts my soul, how could you say no to some fresh beer? Some disgusting cocktail that'll never beat yours?" (She's being sarcastic, but it's okay, Ymir doesn't know how to cook pasta. I can take it.) "I can bring Christa if you want."

"Hell if you want to go on a date why do you make me the third wheel? Just do it for fuck's sake." 

"Thanks Sherlock I've never, ever considered this possibility. 'Was just being nice, you know, since Eren's got some new friends I thought you might appreciate my mighty enjoyable company. Boy, friendship's free!" _Unlike beer_ , I thought.

More like Tough Girl cannot handle a face-to-face date with her everlasting crush. It's okay I don't judge. Actually it's kind of funny to see Ymir take such paths just to save herself the discomfort of giving Christa the worst date she's ever seen.

"So is it a date or are you going out and none of you are lucid enough to call it what it is? Call a cat a cat, damn it." I felt like I'd said this before, like the quiet epiphany of some expression you've got a grasp on without having noticed it before. Some day you wake up and realize the only word in your vocabulary is "fuck" or "like" or some 2000's expired expression you'd only find in middle schools or the comment section of _Youtube_. "Anyways, I have no time for your oblivious lesbian bullshit."

"Fuck you, of course it's a date."

"Then you've been dating for a pretty long time and nobody knew, right?"

Ymir stayed silent. I felt she wanted to break my neck and jubilated for a second. That's how you know you're on the right track.

The problem with Ymir is that she's tough as fuck. She really is, and it's not just a matter of muscles, because yes she could pierce a hole in my skull with her little finger but she's also the Proudest Specimen on Earth. Along me and Eren, probably, although Jean's a good rival. Mikasa doesn't care, Connie's never been and Sasha never gets why she'd have to be. Proud as in hardcore pride, man pride — the emo teen kind of proud, with black nails and long back strands hiding your eyes. Ymir's always been head over heels for that girl for as long as she's known her. Funnily enough, for a lesbian, she never had the balls to do anything about it.

(I'm making it easy, Ymir's actually bi but tomorrow's not gonna be the day she starts dating a boy. No Sir. If she didn't naturally send gay vibes from 4 states around, everyone of us would only have eyes for her.)

Because Ymir's not only Tough Girl, she's Cool Girl, she's the type of girl you want in your bed, in your bathtub, on your IKEA couch and all over the dusty floor getting high with you with sushi within easy reach. She likes what you like, hates what you hate and never gets angry, that kind of girl's not only your dream girl but most likely the girl you'll never get. She's either gay, not interested, or dead for sure.

I've always been the Quiet Boy, choosing his words wisely but not quite talking necessarily. Lately, though, I've more been Bitter Boy. I gotta deal with it.

"I'm gonna ask Reiner," she said quickly as if it'd bring the answer to every question, the solution to every problem. I didn't doubt Reiner would come.

She rang up before I could do something and I waited a few seconds to be sure, waiting for Ymir's loud and confident voice to reach my ears before the obnoxious "bip" would start. I put the phone down, and here was I, lonely again. Maybe I should've said yes.

When _Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye_ by Cohen echoes through the shop, making it lonelier, I picture myself in my bed, comfortably dressed with my seasonal depression. And then I wake up, I'm at the counter, gazing at the void, and everything's shit again.

I sat on the counter and threw paper balls in the trash (a meter away, but I deal with what I've got), sent myself on long trips to the toilets and prayed for anything to interrupt this day. Erd wasn't coming back, but I wasn't sure I wanted him to. The song, though, it never ended. Maybe it'd been on replay.

Sad songs feel like forever. Let's face it, it's a sad song. It's the kind of song you play to go to bed because you just know you aren't going to fall asleep without that little detail. Because you know that you'll have to force yourself into sleep, again. Like pills or unappreciated medicinal masturbation, for sleeping purpose only. So here's a mystery to why I never fell asleep on that counter, too.

But somehow I really didn't and then it was dark outside and Erd still hadn't come back and I started to ask myself if it was a good idea. This. Slowly, oh so slowly dropping out of school to convince myself it wasn't important, replacing that shit with a different kind of shit that didn't make me feel any better. Same feeling, different place. Instead of zoning out on a seat for eight hours, you're zoning out standing for the same amount. Can't tell which is more boring.

The later it got, the angrier I felt, and the knowledge that I was physically incapable of, once he'd pass that door, tell Erd he's a piece of shit today, made me even angrier. Because yes, that's something I do envy to people who don't give a fuck about others: they get to say what they want as well. What can I say? I was well educated. I'm a polite child. I'm bound to whisper distressed "hellos" and "thank yous" to people who don't deserve it.

But also this: I'm a fucking hypocrite because of that, because of my mother teaching me other people's feelings were more important than mine, therefore, I had to lie and offer the other cheek even when I could feel my jugular jerk with passion, reminding me that contrarily to Freud's statement about how everything we do is because we want to fuck our mothers, our first problem isn't incest but _murder_. Easy to see: animals kill animals to eat, humans kill humans for fun, money, or abuse of power.

She never told me that exactly. But isn't it what parents teach you? It is. Why don't they teach kids to be honest with themselves and with those who clearly need people to be honest with them, too? Because if I'd been that kind of boy, I would have thrown that computer screen right at his face the moment he'd show up. And then, I'd probably leave. Or quit. Or both.

Reality's sad because I won't quit. I need money. I'm not as brave as Mikasa.

Erd came back eventually. Earlier than I'd thought, but my expectations are low by default so it doesn't count. He told me I was free to go and I battled not to thank him.

My MP3 player died on the way home so I plugged my earphones to my phone and searched for an independant free playlist on Internet. Ended up listening to some low-fi, basic acoustic playlist Thomas had sent three weeks ago and which I'd never bothered to check despite telling him the contrary. Most of it was made of indie, Bon Iver kind of bands, then there's Bob Dylan, and then it's Mazzy Star so it's okay. The country undertones made me feel depressed, because there rarely is anything more depressing than sad country. Even though I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be.

It's true, though. The way guitar notes go from up to down is so insanely sadening. It's like a trip from birth to death in three minutes and thirty seconds.

Then I thought of Jeff Buckley, and I thought of his death, and I thought of everyone's. I realized everyone was dying all around. I realized I'd die, too, and hoped it wouldn't come too soon, because even though this life's shit, I cannot leave yet.

When I got off the bus, or rather, an intimate eye contact between me and the only passenger, a girl in her late high school years, with shiny lip gloss and messy hair that made her looked oddly obscene, the birds were chirping even though it was dark as night.

Aren't they gonna sleep, either? Fucking _birds_. All they do is sing and watch you from above, change branches once in a while, and they feel like they've got the right to tell you to be happy. And now I'm complaining about birds because I'm hitting the bottom. 

"Hey," I get called before passing the wire fence around our "front garden". 

No need to turn to know it's Connie, silently sitting on the steps of his own house like he's not supposed to be here. He's smoking a cigarette with his knees up against his chest and I know he's in trouble.

"What're you doing here? It's cold." I wasn't lying, the only reason why I'd just a tee on is because I'm that kid who always makes wrong pronostics about the weather. 

 _Roll On, John_ was still playing in my left earbud. It made this moment feel like one of those intimate friend scene in indie movies, with a calm soundtrack and a quiet conversation. 

Connie would never have left. Otherwise, I would have offered him to come inside because, boy, that's some cold weather. 

And then I got one of those late in the day epiphanies, that Connie might just have a life as boring as mine and never showed it. That maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the main character of the depressing, plot-deprived, low-budget independant movie I thought I was starring. Maybe he'd more to say.

"I like cold." 

Another sterile conversation, and suddenly it felt like I was talking to Eren, but I was reminded that I'm the reason why most of ours are sterile.

"Anyways, d'you have a cig? It's my last one." 

Connie doesn't smoke much. That's why I was surprised he'd even bother to ask me, or even bother to smoke two in a row, or even bother to go out and smoke in the first place. Maybe my perception's biased because Eren's a heavy one.

"Not one," and I slapped my palms on my sides to show my pockets were empty. I could feel my bus ticket through the material. "When are you getting your head shaved? You missed the shot. Last night was hair's night."

We could have called him, but we hadn't. 

"I don't know man, I'm thinking it might protect me a bit," he replied as he worked a soft hand through his short hair, which didn't fight much before going back to its original place. He was one of those who looked better with shaved skulls, and I was sure Eren and Jean were, too.

Even though Jean would look kind of dumb. Maybe it's because he spends half his time stroking his hair.

Chicago's South Side has the warmest, heaviest summers, but when it comes to winter, you better stay inside. 

"Where's Sasha?" 

"I don't know, she's not home."

He didn't sound like he cared but I doubted they'd gotten into a fight. So I assumed she hadn't come home yet. Connie wasn't the type to go outside and smoke after a fight, and they weren't the type to fight in the first place.

"Eren isn't, either."

I had a hard time masking my surprise at his words. Eren, out? By such a weather? What held so much importance to him that he'd go out for? 

"Oh. Nice." Not to sound bitter, but I am. I'm bitter as fuck. I'm such a shit ass friend that I dislike my friends going out without me. That's how bitter I am. "Any idea where he went?" 

Connie shrugged, without energy or interest, and I could feel in the way he dropped his shoulders that he didn't give a shit. Maybe it's me who's got a problem with sharing.

"He's gonna come back. Relax." Yeah, thanks, Connie, thanks man, that's so necessary to hear.

For a second everything went quiet and I realized how depressed I was. I felt _banal_. **_Disposable_**.

Maybe it had to do with everyone telling me Eren had other plans than me. Him moving on with life, and me going backwards. Have you ever felt like your life's going the wrong way and nobody cares? That everything's slowly slipping off your control and it looks like a big fat joke to you but somehow you're too disappointed to do something about it? It's called life. I think it could also be called "the joyful disappointment of understanding what being an adult is and how this piece of shit society works". 

When I came home, as Connie'd told me, Eren wasn't here. There was no loud music upstairs, no scream between Jean and Eren, by the way, Jean was sprawled on the couch and without a word, I joined him on the opposite of it, lifelessly watching the TV screen as it killed my eyes. He looked at me, I turned to him, and then we both went back to the screen. 

It's all said. Nobody needs to comment. This hadn't been a good day for two losers like us.

"What do you wanna eat?" he asked, quietly, as if talking could break the peace around us, the kind of peace you feel when you come home from work and you're tired, and it's cold, and you just want to sleep. 

I glanced at Jean but he wasn't looking. None of us looked like we were about to cook shit.

"Chinese?"

A moment of peace and silence. 

A tampon commercial started.

"Chinese."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So you're not interested in boys?" Jean tried.

Of course Connie's with Sasha, but he stared from the side because who wouldn't. Not that it'd change anything if Annie said yes, but Connie and Jean are that kind of guys who feel like they have to please everyone. They can't handle the thought of a girl so charming girl sitting next to them. Although Annie wasn't charming. She was anything but charming — pretty, tough, independent, she sure was. Not _charming_. Christa was.

"Uh…no." She didn't sound much excited and I smiled.

"Come on, don't you have tons of expired lovers? I'm sure you have some." 

"No, really, I'm not interested in guys."

 _Not fuckers anyways_ , she almost added. I didn't say anything but I knew exactly what it meant, what the fuck, I've seen her sharing saliva with a girl on a skate ramp. I don't really need much more than that.

I know she could have been bi, but Annie, really? She doesn't seem the type. She's too smart for boys.

Jean shook his head and Connie chuckled from half behind him, way smaller than him. It's not quite that Connie's small, but he doesn't require much space. Jean's taller, bigger, and he imposes himself around, his personality takes more space. You feel me? 

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

But then, Jean stopped, because we all felt like she'd punch him if he dared to ask one more time. Jean might be proud and stupid but he's got some sense of conservation inside.

Funnily enough, despite asking Annie if she liked boys, he'd never asked if she was _single_. I looked down at my knees under the table, the pressure in my throat reminding me I knew something I wasn't supposed to know, something more than the rest did. It's okay, the secret would be safe with me, the problem doesn't lie here. The problem is: what do I do with it? How do I unlearn this secret and unsee it forever? What am I supposed to do with this poisoned knowledge stored in my mind that I can't share or think about? I could think about it, but it'd be weird. First, because I always feel like Annie can read my mind. Everytime I'm wandering off she looks at me like _she knows_ , like she's going to ask me to go out and threaten me with a knife not to tell a soul. And secondly because I prefer to think about other stuff. 

 _My_ stuff, as I'm the biggest egocentric man over here.

"So what are we waiting for exactly?" Connie's losing patience and I can feel his palms slapping his thighs in rhythm. 

We were sitting at a round table and I was stuck between Connie and Jean with absolutely no way out. I was sure it wouldn't be too pretentious to assume Annie'd rather sit beside me, it's hard not to right now, in this very moment, when Jean's practically begging her to go on a date and Connie's being himself. Nothing new under the sun.

Or night. Because it's actually 22:12 when Mikasa passes the door and searches through the customers before spotting us in the corner, right in the back. She walked towards us with her usual gait, careless and feminine, but she looked more tense. Barely visible, everything lied in the way her shoulders pressed against her body, high and tight.

"Hi, sorry for the lateness." She slid on the leather bench beside Annie and we all moved a little to the side to even out the space. "I couldn't find the restaurant."

That was lie, because we'd been here before. She could have said there was no space left in the parking lots, in the streets, that there was a lot of traffic or that Eren'd made her late. But she hadn't, and now it was obvious everything was fake: her excuse, the red of her cheeks that they'd mistake for a rush, even us the four of us meeting here. We didn't have anything in common, much less anything to say. 

Mikasa met my eyes almost accidentally and her eyes were wide open, watchful and ready to kill me in a second if needed. I frowned, she looked away like I didn't exist. Why was I even here?

To tell the truth, it was Mikasa who'd invited me to "change my ideas" as I'd "seemed depressed lately". I thought I could use the opportunity to tell her some stuff and put all our cards on the table but Jean invited himself and brought Connie along and now we were all stuck. Annie didn't seem to mind, she was only mildly annoyed, but to me the situation could hardly get any more awkward.

"It's okay we haven't ordered anything yet." Connie replied as if he couldn't see whatever was happening around him, as if the only thing he cared about was food and the fact that we "hadn't ordered anything yet". He was so dense and oblivious, so not attentive at all — he didn't even try.

Jean must have realized the awkwardness of the situation, a little bit too late but better than never, as he'd ended up sitting next to Annie and right in Mikasa's sight, Mikasa, his everlasting crush, and Annie, the girl he'd tried to date three minutes ago. That's something Mikasa didn't know but it could be read on Jean's face.

I sighed but politely pretended to anticipate a yawn. Mikasa was watching me.

"You didn't bring your friends?" Connie asked, to Annie, who shrugged like she didn't have any.

And that's what she said: "I don't have friends."

Everyone's face but Mikasa's went "oh" like the sudden realization that the dinner would be incredibly long, but Mikasa put her arms on the table and her voice, clear and powerful, felt like a shiver. 

"We should order now."

It was a basic pizzeria so no one here needed to check the menu, mostly because we'd been checking it for about twenty minutes now. I knew for a fact Mikasa had a favorite pizza which comforted me into thinking something was wrong with her excuse. She definitely knew where the restaurant was. So what? Had she been locking herself in the next shop's toilets for twenty minutes? Just hoping we'd go away and forget about it?

In the middle of my pizza I realized I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. As in, right now, in a second. Mikasa was gone to the toilets and Annie was looking at me in a strange way, and after a minute or two, I knew why.

Connie and Jean were talking, loudly and actively, as they'd always do, and we shared a last look to be sure.

"Armin?" she asked, clearly enough for the others to hear. They stopped talking but she pretended not to see it. "Would you mind walking me home?"

Jean's face went from curious to jealous, then eventually furious, and lost, not understanding why she'd choose me to walk her home she had a manly, talkative specimen ready to jump off the window if she asked.

Sure, I'm not too manly, I'm not too talkative either, but Annie didn't like manly and talkative. In fact it didn't surprise me that much to be the one she'd choose for it.

"Hm, sure, let's go." I put my fork down and handed out the last bill of my collection, just when Jean went serious again and put a hand on mine. I was sure he'd ask some ridiculous question about Annie, or ask us to come along, but instead, he shook his head.

"Don't. It's on me." 

The change was real and suddenly he wasn't joking. I suspected him to do that only because Annie was watching, silent and attentive, analyzing every word and move. But then I remembered that Jean was also a friend to me, and that it had happened before. We weren't too close, but I shouldn't be surprised.

So I took my bill back and offered a polite smile that would have seemed forced and fake if Jean didn't know me well enough. He just shrugged and nodded the end of our quiet exchange.

Annie slid off the bench and grabbed her leather jacket, waiting for me to do the same. 

When we passed the door and Connie's attempts at convincing Annie to see them soon drowned far, far away, Annie put her jacket on and checked her pockets for a cigarette. She took one, stuck it between her lips and we started walking in a random direction. I doubted I'd walk Annie home. In fact we'd either part unexpectedly or she'd be the one walking me home.

"Are you sure Mikasa won't mind?" 

"Were you even there tonight? Of fucking course she won't mind. Christ, she didn't even want anyone here tonight." After a pause, but not out of kindless or guilt, she added: "Except you probably. You're cool."

Cool couldn't be the exact, right word, but I'm sure "cool" was a highly honor mention in Annie's vocabulary. I'm even convinced the times she'd called someone cool except for punk singers and anarchist hackers could be counted on the fingers of one hand. 

If she liked me, of course, it was because we were similar. Except she was braver than I'd ever dream to be.

Didn't mean she didn't have insecurities, though. They were even almost visible in the way she'd move her shoulders from time to time, trying to make herself tinier than she already was. 

"Thanks," was all I found to answer her.

We walked in silence on the pavement, past closed shops and neon lights, past lovers sitting on benches who didn't seem to do anything but hug themselves, past silent people walking on the pavement just like we were. 

Suddenly I was aware of this secret that didn't belong to me, this tiny burden hanging in my back like the responsibility was mine. Did she even know I knew?

I wanted to tell her, but then I didn't, and when we crossed the road that led to my old high school, I was given an ounce of bravery.

"So I guess it's safe to assume Jean's not your type, huh." 

First I realized it was too vague, not precise enough for Annie to know what I meant. But Annie's smart, and the way she looked at me sideways proved the contrary.

"You can tell? Amazing." She grinned like it was a good thing, then went on after a brief silence. "I've never been one to know myself perfectly, maybe that's why I'm so late at this kind of stuff. It's only when I met Mikasa that it came to me, you know, before that I didn't really give a damn. Boys thought I liked boys and I thought that too, despite never dating any."

I listened carefully, feeling like I was privileged to be told these things, knowing I had to hear every word perfectly because I'd never be able to ask her to repeat. She was talking to me about something private, something she wouldn't tell to Jean, or Connie, maybe not even Eren. Maybe that's what quiet boys leave as an impression, the ability to keep secrets and absorb your thoughts like some sort of emotional sponge. It's a good thing in my mind.

And it was a relief, too, because I didn't feel like I needed to give her my secret anymore. Her secret. I didn't feel like it held any kind of importance, given Annie had chosen to share it with me beforehand. Now I was responsible of what she'd told me, but not what I'd seen, because there was no difference in the meaning.

So, Annie liked girls. And then what? What could I do with that information, now? Nothing. I just had to keep it safe inside, safe and warm, so that no one would find out unless she'd given her permission.

"I'm not gonna tell, if you're wondering." I was being quiet, careful of some sort, trying to step on burning rocks like it was a dangerous path to choose.

"I'm not worried about people knowing, Armin. Yes some won't like it. Yes some will even try to hurt me because of it. But they can't. Really, they can't," she concluded before turning her head my way, and she was smiling oddly, like she had the secret of the universe and was unbreakable.

I believe she was.

"Maybe Mikasa told you, maybe she will, maybe she won't. It's not my job to talk about myself like that and it's not interesting to me. But there's approximately zero reason to worry about such stupid things." 

I didn't think her sexuality was stupid, but given I was that one human to think nothing was important, I guess it meant the same. It wasn't stupid, but it didn't matter either. Such an awkward paradox, right? The line's thin between the two. Easy to cross it.

"She didn't tell me much about you. In fact she's always been selfless and quiet about herself, so I guess it's not a surprise. But I'm not worried, either."

She nodded in the night. She knew.

Annie was strong, not only physically despite her thin and small enveloppe. She had that kind of mind you cannot shaken, that kind of mind able to make a difference someday if she decided to. She keeps things so deep inside her it's almost like a black hole with no bottom, swallowing words and emotions she doesn't need, turning useless people into memories that never existed. How nice could it be?

She's made of crystal, wearing an armor that'll make attacks bounce and fly right back at their sender. It's almost funny.

I wish I was that strong, you know. Able to receive human emotions without them crushing me in the process. I'm a weak receptacle for such heavy burdens. 

"Thank you for the help. I don't really care but as a first impression I didn't really want to be rude and leave like that. If I can make Mikasa happy by being liked by her friends, then… you know. It's all good."

"Don't call victory too soon, once you know them, they can be very intrusive and… present. You'll want to never have met them."

She laughed, and we both knew we'd meet again soon.

"I'm gonna go this way. I have to buy something on the way home. Girl stuff, you know," she laughed as she walked backwards away from me, but still visible under the streetlight. "Are you gonna be alright?"

It was fun, both that she was going to buy girl stuff when she was the one worrying for my safety on the way back home. Annie wasn't a girl, in fact, she wasn't real. Funny how all the girls I befriend are stronger and braver than I'll ever be. Hitch, Mikasa, Annie… even Sasha is, in her own way. 

"Sure, it's only two blocks away now. It was nice talking with you." 

"I'm not going anywhere," she said quite warmly, even despite her unblinking face, offering an open door and a shoulder if needed. That was unexpected and nice.

Again, I felt privileged. Annie doesn't have much time for people. The probability to her opening the door for you is lower than the probability to win the lottery. 

But Annie and I weren't the most sociable people alive and I knew we'd probably never meet if we weren't forced to. Still, it felt nice to know she was there if needed. She was my own safe measure, my own bodyguard, that one chick that'd leave a burning paper bag full of shit on someone's porch if I told her they deserved it. But then again I had Mikasa, too, I'd always had her, so I'd always felt safe anyways.

Eren wasn't the same thing. Eren was nervous, he acted on his emotions, he didn't think of the consequences, never. He'd protect me, too, but he'd get hurt in the process. That's not necessary.

My way of protecting Eren was to keep him from fighting with stupid boys or getting my ass beaten with his. Talk about friendship, more like fucking faithfulness, right.

When I came home, this time, Eren was on the couch, playing Candy Crush on his phone as he was slowly slipping lower in the couch. He didn't look up when I entered the room but I knew he'd noticed my presence by the way his shoulder stiffened at sight a little bit, to make sure I knew he was tough in case I didn't already know. It was unnecessary pride but I went along and sat on the opposite armrest.

"Fun night?" I asked, as a way to bring peace to our past conversations. A white flag thrown in the air.

He didn't move, nothing did except his thumb which danced against his screen, lazily as could be, like he didn't really care about the game more than a way for him to keep himself busy, a reason not to look at me and give a damn.

Eventually, though, the distant, quiet music coming from his phone changed and he'd either paused or past a level. Seemed like the good occasion to him to look at him and decide I'd been punished long enough. He was ready to end my suffering.

"Never." He almost looked like he'd add "without you" but I was too hopeful and he was too proud.

I got up and threw myself on the closest easy chair, looking at the ceiling like this day had been exhausting. I didn't even remember most of it.

"I guess I'm an asshole," he said in the silence, breaking it gently, his eyes glued to his screen again, forcing himself not to add anything or glance my way. I knew words were forcing their way through his lips but he was holding them back.

"You are," I replied without trying to deny it, because it was true. He'd been an asshole. The last two days at least. But then so did I.

"It's hard to accept that you're not gonna be mine forever. That, you know. Someday you'll move on and live with some girl and grow up like you're supposed to."

I noticed he hadn't mentioned himself, like he was any different, like I was designed to become an adult and he wasn't. Fucking bullshit, man.

"I'm not some kind of bird about to fly off the nest Eren. Even if I did I'd never be too far. Besides it's impossible to get out of this dead-end of a town. And I'm not doing it anyways. Whatever you're convinced I'll do, I won't."

The little music kept going but this time he dared to look at me, only moving his eyes with his head comfortably sunk in a pillow. He was frowning, like deep in his thoughts, trying to figure something out, analyzing me at the same time.

"What, are you?" 

"Am I what?" he smiled.

"Ready to grow up. Have a healthy relationship with some girl you'll call _baby_."

"Fuck you!" he smiled again, grinning like it was a sick joke. I laughed along, because Eren would never fit in this frame of lifestyle. Then he went calm but looked at his screen, even when the music suddenly stopped. "Nah. Not ready for a relationship with a girl."

I know I'm no reference when it comes to analyzing people and put two and two together. But I was almost sure of what it had meant.

He wasn't ready for a girl. A _girl_ , he'd precised, perhaps to admit something to himself.

And I thought of Levi, and all of sudden I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

Maybe there were things I didn't know about Eren. Maybe Annie wasn't the only one to play for the other team. 

Maybe I really wouldn't be the one to fly off the nest. 


	12. the one with aggressive amounts of anxiety and jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin's seasonal depression blooms and stuff gets rather spicy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, ha. Have some depressed Armin being anxious and lonely. Not supposed to be drama, and it isn't, eventually he'll have better days. And also I feel like I'm going closer to make it even more complicated with Eren... lovin' it. 
> 
> Found a job and uni's getting overwhelming so I might not post in a while. 
> 
> [oxy](http://oxymorts.tumblr.) on Tumblr

There are nights where I'll lie down and cry quiet tears, face too tired and sore to move, throat flooded by the words I'll never say unable to produce a sob. And I'll cry because I'm overwhelmed by how big this world is, how unfair it is, how hard it's crushing me under its bleeding knuckles. I'll cry because for a moment I don't want to be there anymore, nothing's exciting, there's only sadness, bitterness, the general lack of peace and calm and affection in the middle of my own inner battefield, fueled by self-hatred and a deep distrust in this world and what it's able to do. I'll cry because nobody understands who I am, no matter how stupid this might sound: that nobody sees me the way I want to be seen, that nobody really listens to the echo of my words when I'm desperate for it to be heard. I'll cry because the real questions are the ones drowning in the back of my mouth as I'm trying hard not to rage out, and their answers are the ones I'll never get because no one finds them interesting enough. This is not about war or peace but about the people who command both, I am the white flag dancing in the cold winter wind as blood crashes on the humid ground, meaningless, forgotten.

It is dramatic to speak of my teenage depression as a soldier's fall, but I've never been in anything else but war. To myself, to people, to society and the world who doesn't give a shit whether you die happy or not. Some nights, you'll realize how crazy this is because every second spent trying will be stepped upon way too fast, spat on, left behind.

People instead of opening their eyes on the efforts you've made for them, your attempt at being the selfless man you aren't, will laugh at you and reproach you everything you are not. Everything the world wants you to be and everything you know you'll never achieve. I wish I was a simple human. But it's so much more complicated than that, it's so deeper than the surface of the water, unmoved from the chaos happening all around, still from every unique tragedy in everyone's lives, too distant, too quiet, too unimportant to matter to anyone.

It's really tragic and it's how things are.

Indeed, there are nights where I'll make a plan to hate everyone and stop hurting myself in the process of trying to love them. I cannot love everyone. I don't have a heart big enough for them all. There's only a tiny slit ready to welcome those who will think they deserve to be here and do not. I've wasted too much time trying hard and not being myself.

I've spent too much time eating when I'm not hungry, smiling when I'm not happy, pretending that a glass of water can wash away the bitterness of yesterday and cleanse my body for tomorrow. Nothing is ever that easy. No night is ever that peaceful.

Sometimes I'll cry, no matter how unmanly this might seem, no matter how human this actually is. People don't cry often enough. They keep it in, they convince themselves they don't need tears, but it's melting their insides. Mine are melting, too, but at least I'm crying. At least I am honest to myself when the lights are out.

I watched Hitch take her shower from the cold tiles of the bathroom, sitting on the very floor as the calming sound of water filled the room like a quiet wordless lullaby.

She hadn't pushed the curtain back so I watched her with tired eyes, following the curves of her pale skin that reminded me of mine. She had a few scars and a few bruises, just enough to tell she'd lived things. And just like that, she was offering herself to me, doing the most intimate things before my eyes like I was no stranger, like I was herself. I'd noticed Hitch wasn't that kind of person to attach herself to reserve and innocence. Hitch lived in the now.

I, on the contrary, lived in the past. I'd spent the whole night getting depressed more than I already was, voluntarily finding new ways to make me sadder and sadder, until it'd seem obvious there was no better way to depress myself than to leave my comfort zone. It's so easy to be shaken when the four walls surrounding me aren't my room's.

It was 7:42 AM and Hitch had come back from another endless party, a party she seemed to have enjoyed. She'd found me sitting under her appartment porch fifteen minutes after my arrival, and let me in like she knew I'd eventually come. Hitch was sobering up, but drunk enough to be recognized as such — as for me, I was too tired and sleep-deprived to look sober.

I'd pondered about things. I'd thought about how everything seems to deeply suck sometimes, so much that you wonder if it'll ever stop. You wonder what's still in store for you. You want to die for a minute and then come back alive just to kill yourself back again.

At 7:22, I was vaguely bitter and rudely not talkative. At 7:36, I became depressed and obviously not here to talk. When 7:40 arrived, I'd already turned myself into a quiet ball of stress, anxiety and self-hatred curling in the corner, with dead, strangers eyes and cold skin.

Hitch didn't ask questions, like I knew she would. In return, I didn't ask about the tiny purple spot in the hollow of her inner elbow.

A needle, for sure. But the wound was fresh and appeared obvious in the wide ocean of white skin that surrounded, so I didn't worry too much. It's not healthy to worry about people like us.

Hitch and I had gotten used to each other, in the familiar kind of way, to the point where we could do intimate things together but separately without any care. We didn't judge each other, only teased; there was no hate, no love, only a friendly tenderness we shared to make ourselves less lonely. It was that: lonely people being lonely but together. And it seemed to work.

Hitch grabbed a towel and put on black panties, and eventually a pink t-shirt, so tight and short it barely covered her abs. We got to the kitchenette and she opened the fridge expectantly, hoping for anything edible that wouldn't be dry or expired. Her fridge had to "Why guys keep their beers on the bottom shelf" poster on it with the girl wearing a thong bending forward to grab a beer. I guess Hitch's flat's the kind of flat no parent ever visits. Reminded me of that time when we'd hung a porn poster on the downstairs toilet's wall to fap to death during that one particularly hot summer. We took it off, eventually; then the toilet died and we condemned the room.

She took yesterday's ramen out of the shelf, a light green box with some Japanese written on it. One of the local restaurants which delivered food, practical for people like us who didn't like other people. I had only seen the box once when I had opened the fridge to grab a drink, and like a broke couple we sat on the floor and with two plastic forks (the other forks were all in the sink) we ate on the floor, sharing the box in silence.

Life with Hitch wasn't that complicated. It was the easiest life I'd ever had.

"Aren't you cold?"

She looked at me, fork between her lips, and smiled innocently.

"Fuck, no, I'm sweating."

Hitch's flat had a short temper. Hot in the bathroom, cold in the kitchen, changing temperature in other rooms; while I, the guy who never felt the cold anywhere but on his fingertips, didn't have a problem with that, Hitch was actually practically naked.

Her nipples were hard from the lack of heat, I could see it through her tee. I tried not to look, for manners.

"It's disgusting," I said with a frown, still trying to decide of how disgusted on a scale from 1 to 10 I was.

She laughed, that wide mouth big teeth closed eyes kind of laugh. Amazed, I enjoyed the sound of it.

Hitch has that laughter, honest and short, that's brief enough for you to miss it once it's disappeared into the air. You're left wishing to hear it again and strangely pleased with how it echoes in your own head.

Fortunately, she found me quite funny. Don't know why.

"Bleh, it is. But heh, it'll do," she added to my words.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

She looked at me, surprised but interested.

"I don't know. Mom does. When I was a kid she used to scare me with it, tell me about her friends and that one woman who… chased spirits out of haunted houses. A school comrade's mom I think. They used to gather and have coffee and I'd stay in the stairs to listen. I mean, I did that, but later I couldn't sleep so I deserved it."

"It's fascinating. When you're alone somewhere and you almost… feel something cold brush your neck and you realize there's approximately zero reason for it to happen given all the windows are closed. When something cracks and you remember there's no parquet here. When something scratches your wall and you have no cat."

She pretended to shiver and cringed.

"Back in high school that one dude threw a party for his birthday and we were like, twenty. Half of us decided to go for a walk and share some weed, because, why not, right? It was night, no parents, we felt nice. Then this asshole talks about an old house in town that's been abandoned for years, and said according to the rumors there were strange files inside, with scary stuff in it. They all agreed to go there."

"And what happened?"

"Well, the house had been destroyed."

I cackled, pushing her shoulder.

"Just my luck, boy! Would have pissed my pants."

"I get scared when wearing headphones and cars pass me by in the street, who are you telling that to."

"Sounds like I've got a rival… beware."

"No contest needed, I'm the biggest pussy in town."

In fact I knew worse, like Connie, or even Jean if drunk enough. Eren wasn't the bravest, either. But I definitely made it to the Top 5.

We finished the box and sat on the couch, watching TV in a comfortable silence, waiting to fall asleep one after the other. Hitch held on tight, I felt myself slipping away. It was satisfying to be in the middle of a such a room, deprived of any useless furniture, of conventional material chaos. Things here were so simple, so authentic, nothing lied; it was either beautiful or ugly, sometimes both, according to me. I wished our house could look like this.

It's a strange craving I had. To sleep on a mattress on the floor, to sit on the ground, to eat on the kitchen counter, to have a TV resting on the dusty floor, too. A simple life with simple pleasures, tasting things like they are.

She hit my legs with her foot to wake me up and grabbed my arm to lead to the bedroom. Her roommate would soon wake up, she said.

We fell on the mattress and she moved around for a while, trying to find the right position, bouncing on the unmade sheets as the bed shook a bit.

"Wanna spoon?" I suggested, sleepy, eyes closed, with a fake seductive voice I knew she'd laugh at.

"Sure thing, man."

"I'm the small spoon, then," I said, so quiet I almost feared Hitch wouldn't hear me, but felt her move around again.

"Why? Like to feel protected? I know boys have that ego thing going on but you can just ask," she teased as she slipped behind me. I felt her warmth in my back; she hadn't lied about feeling hot.

"No." Words felt hard to form, even harder to come out. "But I do get fierce boners when sleepy."

I caught her cackling with ease behind me, reaching for the covers.

"You too? Happens to me everytime," Hitch joked. I laughed, distant but amused, and grabbed her arm when I felt it on my waist. "Must have been fun in maths class."

 

* * *

 

Glued to the slightly rolled down window at my right I searched for cool air even though it'd keep me from breathing. I was lulled by the low songs playing in my earbuds and the comfortable speed Eren had adopted on the small highway, and I closed my eyes for a while, only opening them when I felt the cold caress of a frozen raindrop against my cheek. I gazed at the distant sun setting in the horizon behind layers of sad, naked trees and winter landscapes still deprived of any snow, and slowly, almost carefully, I raised my fingertips to my cheek, only to meet the soft surface of my own skin, surprised it was even this soft. There was no rain, only the ghostly touch of winter's temperature. The wind against my face was starting to hurt with how cold it was and how mercilessly it crashed against my fragile skin, but I was feeling nauseous and needed air no matter how cold.

We drove past an industrial area like many others in the South Side, a huge grayish structure in the middle of abandoned hangars; the written sign upon it saying "Karting Indoor" with half its letters rusting and fading to almost disappear.

It smelled like gas and burned woods, like the aftermath of a rainy tempest and a lonely sense of belonging. Anyone would have considered this landscape saddening and hard to look at, but it was home. I'd always lived here, what could I dream of? How useful could it be to complain about what I'd seen so much if the only certainty was to see it again?

There was no point in hating where I came from. The South Side had its downsides but it was the only place I'd feel safe at. No matter how many times I'd talked about leaving… about finding some bid city to mingle into the crowd and erase myself… I knew I could barely do that more than I could here. That's the paradox of a small town like ours.

We'd spent the day visiting Jean's family for an entire afternoon, eating included, and I felt tired, eager to come home. Jean's parents lived way behind the industrial area, where the calm and nice neighorhoods made you feel like paradise. Big houses, some pools here and there, black cars that made Eren's engine roar of jealousy. It was no secret that Jean's family had means, _financial_ means, and they were nice enough. But I could never understand why Jean had chosen to live like this, like us, when he had the opportunity to do so much more. He could leave the country if he wanted. Sure, living in this house hadn't entirely been his decision, and it had to do with Jean's parents wanting to throw him out to discover what independence meant. Funnily enough, no matter how independent we felt, we wouldn't have been able to survive on our own if Jean's dad hadn't paid all these months of rent.

From far away it looks like some big fat joke to me. Go, leave the house, become a man! they sad as they throw their son into the lion's mouth and clap their hands in encouragement with their pockets full of green bills, knowing fully they'll eventually have to use them. I don't see the point.

But it's nice having Jean at home, too. I arrived way after him but it's such a comfortable lifestyle we barely remember our lives before moving in here. There's no competition, no "I was there before you", no threat of eviction between us. Only compromise and enough fights to tire ourselves out.

Nobody said anything and it sounded like we were about to fall asleep, even Eren, at the steering wheel, who had his left elbow resting on the open window, holding the side of his head like it was getting gradually heavier. Jean was on the passenger seat, and I could only see his blond hair between the belt, the seat and the headrest; and I was on the backseat, quiet and tranquil, left alone as I'd required. No music on the radio, nothing else than the calming roar of cars passing by and politely cutting in front of us, changing lane, changing speed. Eren was too tired to care and Jean didn't seem to notice any of it.

From there I watched Eren's bleached hair and how the last rays of light landed across his face, making his hair look blond at times. Actually, it was more of an artificial white than a blond, although we'd fought to get rid of the brass. Jean's parents' reaction had been polite, a little surprised but much more amused, and Eren had gotten used to it, enough to take it well.

It was obvious he was holding back whenever he wanted to speak to Jean, perhaps out of pride more than grudge, and he'd turn quiet again or search for someone else to receive his words. It'd pass. It always would.

"We're almost there," Eren forced out of his lips as if to wake himself up, but it was useless, nobody listened, and we knew the road well enough.

We stopped at a small gas station to buy something to drink before it'd get dark, and only came back in the car with a 6-pack of some kids' orange juice with sport caps. We looked like tall toddlers acting as adults, but there was no one around, no one to remind it to us, so we didn't care.

 

* * *

 

"Fucking nice," Eren said as he shook his head, apparently admiring.

Mikasa had gotten a free pass for a movie today. She offered it to Eren and paid for mine, because none of us could have paid for it instead. We arrived ten minutes late, got scammed by the cashier, dropped the popcorn box at the last minute in front of the room, and in the middle of the movie Eren started bleeding from the nose for no particular reason.

But yes, apart from that, it was a cool movie. Some mid-budget, indie-like movie with a good soundtrack and dark humor. You could feel until the last five minutes they'd tried hard to break the stereotypes, which they'd partly managed. For a movie I didn't pay for, it's quite good.

"Do you know why I love this movie?" Eren said to himself as we walked outside, in the peaceful darkness full of satisfied people and lonely, forgotten cars on the parking lots.

Mikasa and I shared a knowing look. He didn't need our answer to go on.

"Because this humor, this fucking humor's so right. My dad would have pissed himself, and not from laughter! Like, guys, what the fuck, it's just so nice. Stuff banal people would cringe at everywhere, it's all I demand."

The ending had been predictable and particularly cheesy, but the rest had been okay. He had a good point with the conventional stuff: sometimes the best movies are those most people dislike because of their content. Vulgar language, gore, sex included… who cares? If it's realistic and well-thought, if I can think to myself "Yes, they're right about that" and make me admit every shameful thing I do and wish will go unnoticed, then they've done good.

"Special thanks to that guy who blurped right before the movie," Mikasa cried out as if she'd just remembered it.

Several seconds before the movie, when everything was black and silent, when everyone waited patiently, shy and heart beating loud, when people stopped eating their popcorn fearing they'd be heard, right when the screen was dark and still, he blurped. No one knew who, or where, or why; it came from the middle of the room, halfway up, and first we heard the people around him laugh. There were too many people for them to be only his friends. The scene felt funny all of sudden and the laughter spread throughout the whole room, so much that when the movie began, nobody was watching. Those who hadn't heard were being told, and those who had were shaking their head silently, smiling because of the perfect timing. No one could tell if it was intentional.

I like these kinds of moments because you do feel like you belong to the crowd. When something banal, happens to a banal person, you feel like it could happen to anyone else; to you; and it's nice because the laughter is everywhere, and you have the right to laugh just as much as your neighbor from two rows behind. Nobody cares.

When the same things happen in amphitheatres at uni, I feel good. It's quite an odd feeling to have, even more coming from someone like me, but that's the way things seem to me. For just a few seconds, nobody's a stranger, you're all alike. These things have only happened with people my age. Teen-targetting movies, uni classes, it's hard to find it anywhere else. Sometimes it happens in the bus, or in a shop, in the street, online, even.

For a moment I am no more Armin, the quiet kid, I'm part of the crowd and I, too, laugh.

"Yeah, perfectly executed," Eren agreed. "And the music, fuck!"

The two of them went on from a subject to another, making a general appraisal of the past two hours we'd lived packed in a room and staring at the reflection of a fictional story. How weird can humans be, by the way? Reminded me of Plato and his allegory of the cave. Just a thought.

Sorry. Can't help it. Philosophy remains.

I mean I could, help it. Why would I though.

"The music was cool. Didn't feel like my kind of stuff but put in a movie like this it actually…fits." They kept silent but agreed by shaking their heads, too, and I felt like my commentary had been useless.

And suddenly I was aware of how quiet I always was, how much space I took, how _huge_ I seemed to myself despite being fragile. I felt uneasy and out of place.

"My car's parked right behind the pizzeria," she showed with her finger above her shoulder, and we stopped. "You two go, I'll walk there and bring it home."

I felt like walking her there but it was close enough to follow her with my eyes and make sure she'd be alright, and I'd be of no use. Accessorily, I wanted to go home.

"Sure," I said.

Eren turned around and walked backwards without watching behind him. At some point I thought he'd fell but held on.

"Yeah, okay, let's make that sometime again."

She acquiesced and with a wave of the wand, walked away. I watched her black biking jacket and the way she seemed to bounce on her own feet with each step. Mikasa was the kind of girl to be naturally gracious, to look good whatever she did, without even trying; back to myself, I felt heavy and boring, lazily landing on my feet like each meter was going to be the last I'd ever walk.

I call this being too aware of your own total inadequacy.

"Well," Eren said as we walked to his car. From here we could see Mikasa open her door. "That was fun."

Lonely, more, because going to the movies is considered intimate and social, and it is intimate when you think about it, sitting in the dark with strangers for so long, but it's lonely more than anything.

I didn't say anything, and realized we really were alone. Everyone was gone and already Mikasa was driving off the pizzeria's parking lot. There only remained a trio near the cinema's entry sharing cigarettes and talking quietly; we, far from here, didn't say anything.

Our previous face-to-face conversation came back to the surface and I felt warm. I felt hot. Sweating.

"Do you have cigs?" I asked, and we stopped automatically, by reflex. He patted his pockets and finally grabbed a visibly nearly empty and very damaged pack of cigs. He took one, gave it to me, and took one for himself as well. I grabbed the lighter deep in my jean jacket's pocket. "Thanks."

"Are you gonna stay silent until we get home? I thought I'd already apologized. That it was…fine."

"It is." And it's all I managed. Fuck you Armin.

A silence, and the peace all around started shaking dangerously.

It was quiet. But not peaceful.

"So?" he asked, and I avoided looking at me. I wished Mikasa had stayed; after all I hadn't been alone with Eren today yet. "Fuck Armin, you make me sound so stupid. Did I say something that offended you?"

He was looking at me without blinking and I couldn't ignore that. I couldn't look back, either. I cringed shyly, scratched the back of my head and played with my cigarette in my other hand.

I couldn't tell him I hadn't slept. Couldn't tell him his words had bothered me, and for which reason, I didn't know. I couldn't tell him anything which left me with silence only. What an asshole of a friend I did.

I almost wished he'd go away and leave me on the parking lot to walk home by myself.

And then, after it felt obvious it was too late for me to suddenly start speaking, "It's okay if you don't want to talk. Let's go home."

But we stayed there and smoked in silence until he threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, brutally, and it would have made me uneasy if I didn't know he always did it this way. Eren waited for me to finish mine and we resumed our silent walk to the car.

Eren jumped as he walked, trying to get himself warm. Meanwhile my fingertips froze to death but I pretended not to feel the cold, as I'd always do.

A proud boy like me, does he even shiver? Who can tell.

At night, troubled and thoughtful, he looked like _Trainspotting_ 's Sick Boy. A wandering hand went through his air and I looked away, suddenly aware of how intrusive my thoughts were. It was one of those "be quiet, look away" moods where you barely allow yourself to even breathe. The less, the better. It's almost like I wanted myself dead, just to be sure Eren wouldn't be disturbed. Strange thing given I'm a particularly fierce selfish man.

Truth is warm embraces and parents apologizing to their kids after a fight only happens in movies. Cliché movies, it is. Now, in real life, nothing much ever happens. If you're lucky you'll go to bed peaceful and not wanting to cry yourself to sleep, and if your chance is decent, you'll get a polite smile that promises better days. I didn't get any of these.

The ride home was comfortable, as comfortable could ever go. Neither Eren, nor I did speak, but we seemed fine with it as we didn't have much to say anyways. Sometimes you're better off silent.

My hands were desperate for something to grab, to reach out for, to play with; deprived of any cigarette, of the phone I hadn't brought with me, too reserved to even try the slightest move around. I didn't move, I barely blinked, but Eren didn't notice. Eren drove. Eren always drove.

In a second of deep despair I almost felt hate towards him. I loved him, to hatred. And I was jealous, jealous he seemed so happy to be alive, jealous things looked so easy to his innocent eyes, that life came so hastily in his arms when I could await and await endlessly in my sheets for a dream to even come my way. I was being stupid, nothing had ever been easy for him. He'd lost his mother, and since then, we could say he'd lost his father, too. He'd never felt like he could fit anywhere, in a more subtle way than a misfit like me. But it still felt good to hate him a little, it felt **_right_** , it felt like I was allowed to breathe and deprive him of air by the same occasion.

What can I say? I'm childish. I've always been like this and I doubt I'll ever change, my single comfort in this world being I'm far from being the only one. God bless there's pity in this cruel world. Ha, ha.

And then, there was a black hole in my mind. That 3 AM kind of black hole. No productive thought, not one that would lead to an inner debate which eventually tires you out. There was nothing, not an emotion, not a memory. I could feel the mechanics of my mind working on their own, clicking and turning, doing their thing without asking anything in return, like they didn't need me to exist. I could have been angry, I could have started a fight. I could have been depressed and hold back tears for no reason. I'd done this before. That's what depression does to you.

But I didn't. Instead, I sat in my seat, here and there grabbing the edge of the seat more to keep myself still than out of nervousness.

For someone with severe anxiety issues, I was being pretty calm.

Not that being calm is too rare. It's more about being peaceful. And in this moment, I almost was. Of course it wasn't too pleasing, wandering off in silence to some place I didn't even know, not knowing when I'd come back or where I could dangerously drift to. But I wasn't clouded with thoughts of Eren, of losing my grip on our friendship, of slowly easing myself out of our precious relationship. No more alone, seemed to say Levi in the abyss of my mind. _Here, have a rival, learn how to lose in order to win. I promise I'll be gentle, kiddo._

I wasn't thinking about my parents and how tired I was of trying to please them without my own consent. Isn't it some kind of tradition? It's in our genes. We might hate our parents deep in the guts, we still want them to be proud, because we can't help it. This sort of thought isn't redundant, in fact, it rarely comes to my mind, even at night. But it does come to the surface when I expect it the least, when I forget I've been sitting on the toilet for twenty minutes, when I walk home from university because I'm not smart enough to think of getting a driving license and a fucking car, rain pouring on my useless head, long blond hair glued to my cheeks like I'm in the middle of a romantic movie, about to get kissed.

But there's no romance to this. I'm alone, and anxious, and helplessly afraid that my parents will see shame in me. They'd look at me, and think, no way I gave birth to a human like him. Feeble, and weak, and unable to face the way world is. I remember times when Eren used to rant about his own father forcing him to be a strong man, someone he quite wasn't yet. Too young, I said. Never did my parents try to force strength inside of me, maybe they did know there wasn't enough space for that in that tiny body of mine. Or maybe they hoped I'd learn by myself, which, obviously, I did not.

There are so many things I have yet to learn and I feel like I'm gonna die soon.

Funnily, I'm not depressed right now. Open to debate, yes.

"Shit weather," Eren muttered in his breath when rain started falling on the windshield. I didn't say anything because I liked rain. "Is it ever gonna stop."

I wanted to say something like, "Summer's soon gonna come" but it would have been a greasy lie. Nothing was furthest to us than summer.

For no reason, I was reminded of all the things I'd post-poned. The trash to be thrown out, the essays to be written, the shifts I had to mentally prepare in my messy head; the long list of things I'd convinced myself weren't important, like filling the fridge or wishing birthdays here and there.

I'd abandoned the birthday thing for a long time, though. I'm not efficient enough to remember the dates and nobody cares in the end. Armin Arlert won't do no difference, he won't make your day particularly nice by singing the same boring line as everyone. Now it's more a question of being polite.

"He wants to take me on a small roadtrip." After a pause, too obvious and suddenly uncomfortable, he added, "Levi, I mean."

Of course I knew. It was always him.

No, it wasn't. But it felt like it, in my smoky, egocentric heart.

"Cool." Sounded rude, even to me, so I went on. "Are you gonna go?"

"I guess so." He took his time with each sentence, each word, perhaps as a form of testing, to make sure I was okay with hearing them. "He didn't tell me the destination but I'm sure it's something like, route 66. With deserts and forgotten retro diners."

We have retro diners here. Why go.

As for deserts, is there a more efficient place to seduce someone like Eren, with a free spirit and a dark tendency to be impressed easily? Ah, fuck me, I'm done worrying about these things.

"When?" I dared to ask, after a while, and I recognized a street. We were soon home.

"I don't know… Levi barely gives details. He's so vague and… I don't know, just… elsewhere, I suppose. He doesn't speak much." He looked at the road, then at me, carefully, and back at the road. "You two would get along."

I frowned to myself and almost got offended. There wasn't a thing to be offended by, surely, as Levi was the type of guy to be loved by anyone, secretly or not. I even admitted he was likable in many ways, but not to the point of liking him for real. I was fine with this no-meet thing, that each our friends kind of contract.

Still, Levi was constantly put on a pedestal and I was disgustingly neglected. Why would I want to befriend this man? There was barely anything we had in common.

Apart from being so talkative.

And, as much as I hated to say it, Eren.

"We already met," I said, knowing it didn't make a proper answer, but knowing Eren would get the message.

"I know." As expected, he went silent afterwards, like his weak attempt at making us friends had failed in front of his eyes.

He didn't try again.

But to myself, I kept thinking I didn't hate this man as much as I hated myself. Why? Who knows. For not keeping Eren close enough, I guess.

Fight or flight's never been my stuff. I'm weak, guys. When it's the moment to be honest and fight for what you want, I take the reversed psychology path and blame everyone but me for the consequences. Eren's never been the subtle kind. Of course it'd never work.

 

* * *

 

Gorillaz's _To Binge_ was playing in my earphones when I decided it was late and calm enough to go brush my teeth. That's something I rarely did, not because I'm a fucking filthy pig, but because my teeth have always been stronger than me and because I always considered the effort unnecessary. Ungrateful for what it was worth. The toothpaste always made me cry anyways.

The rare times I do brush my teeth are after a shower on a good day, and by good, I mean healthy, although showering is quite a proof already. Then, sometimes, if I'm brave, in the middle of the night right before going to sleep. I like to do that at night when everyone's asleep to give me the illusion of some kind of stable health. Please, look, look at me, I'm being normal. I spit in the sink and it bounces back on the mirror. Disgusting.

I scratched the back of my head and walked along the corridor, and in front of my bedroom, there was the bathroom, its door closed. Pushed it lazily, took off my left eaphone because I knew Eren was in the room.

"Hey, Eren."

It's okay, I'd seen him shower many times, or more like, heard. Sometimes we'd bath together, and others, we'd share the room simultaneously doing two different things. One brushed his teeth, or took the biggest shit of the week, and the other smoked in the bath or showered in peace. We didn't mind.

I glanced at Eren's blurry, dark silhouette through the shower curtain and felt small. The bathtub did this.

I doubted he'd heard me because of the water, and having music in my ears alters my perception of sound and space. I'm not the only one to often scream or whisper when talked to.

Since he wasn't giving an answer, I walked to the sink to grab my stuff, wondering if I should start a conversation, if I even wanted to talk. To him particularly. Lately we'd been harsh with each other, too cold or too distant, and suddenly too close and too intrusive. That's how we seemed to communicate now, with extremes, in proportions that were never right. I guess it's based on a best friend's jealousy, because in the end, I didn't hate Levi, and Eren didn't hate Hitch either.

"He—" I was about to start again, try a second time for the sake of the night. We were sometimes softer when there was no light.

And talking about light, the bulb above the sink seemed seconds away to its death. Cringeworthy; once dead, it'd probably never be replaced. I thought about the toilet's light we took months to replace.

But I didn't have the time, because something caught my eye and it's not something _nice_. Not the regular kind of nice anyways.

Eren, standing in the shower, offering his oblivious back whose damp muscles I could imagine contracting from there, wasn't exactly showering. Sure, the main purpose of this was to clean himself, and the water really was running, and the room smelled like soap.

But a familiar wet sound filled the room, too, and now the mechanical, almost tireless movement of his right arm was obvious, breaking the delicate silhouette of his as it came up and down.

My breath got caught in my throat and I froze.

I didn't talk, I didn't clear my throat, nor did I leave the room running hoping for some local priest to bring holy water I could wash my eyes with. I'd seen worse. In dreams at least.

No I didn't move and instead, wondered why the fuck it always happened to me. Countless times I'd be designed as the one having to catch Jean red-handed in the middle of some hand-to-meat action in the living room, or in his room when he barely cared to leave the door closed. Eren, though, it never was the same, not now at least; I panicked.

I stayed where I was, unable to move, listening despite me as Eren panted, groaned slowly, oh so slowly, and lowly, and silently. Reminded me of those audio porn tracks people post after recording themselves masturbating. There's no image, no sweating body to look at, no crazy hand working like the devil's work to the fucking cramp. You're forced to set the setting in your head, to force the details around, to listen to what's given to you: the deep, ragged breathing, the way it sometimes stops and lets go like one's last breath, the familiar and disturbing sound of flesh meeting flesh, the sheets quietly brushing with every move, the distant sounds coming from everywhere, a surreal moan suddenly caught in a throat, held back in, but hardly contained—it felt as obscene as it felt arrousing.

And now I was red, red but livid at the same time, and I could have cried.

This is one of those instants where it's too much, where your body cannot take more. The only way to let it go and start a new page is to cry until you fall asleep or pass out. This is one of those instants and I swear to god I couldn't take any more.

I would have cried, but my breath hardly even came to me, so how would tears do so?

Feeling like a thief witnessing something that's private, something so deeply intimate it's almost illegal, I rushed to the sink and grabbed what I could find. Jean's toothpaste. So be it.

I took it, ran to the door, almost slipping on the sky blue carpet in the middle of the room, imagined Eren's reaction if I'd fallen and lethally hit my head on the bathtub's porcelain. I glanced at him, alone in his world of fantasies, and closed the door just enough that I wouldn't have to produce a sound, but wouldn't have to hear him from my room either.

Then I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the dirty ground. My feet turned black from all this time walking bare foot. After a minute, I took the toothpaste and put it on my index, brushed my teeth with it, lifelessly. I hadn't had time to grab my brush. Whatever. It's done.

It doesn't matter. I've done this before.

I spat in the empty glass on my nightstand that's been there for way too long, and dropped the toothpaste on the ground, before my nightstand and at my feet, where my old socks, forgotten magazines and empty tissue boxes lie, boxes I'd used up from being sick and from diverse nightly activities.

I lied down, mortified, put the cover up to my chin and stared at the darkness around, deceiving, so misleading, seeming so peaceful from here. And everytime I closed my eyes, I saw his arm, crazily working up and down, up and down, up and down. His breath getting messier but still measured enough not to climax.

And after a while, I was able to recognize Eren's grunts under the shower, like some old song whose first notes were familiar to my ears. I shuddered.

I'm a piece of shit.

Because shamefully, very shamefully, I slipped a hand under the covers and down to my groin, gently, almost fearfully hovering it. I closed my eyes, knowing what I hadn't dared to notice or admit, that I'd been hard for several painful minutes now, hard enough, and I slipped this same hand under the waistband of my boxers and sweatpants.

I masturbated, pitifully, to Eren pleasuring himself a few meters away, even though I was frustrated; I was sure he was thinking of Levi as he did it. Hard to ignore.

But even more frustrated because it wasn't Levi I was thinking of as **_I_** did it. Oh no, not Levi at all.

 

* * *

 

"What the fuck," Jean grunted as he entered the kitchen.

The stairs' steps had creaked for so long I thought he'd never reach the first floor.

Eren was in the kitchen, too, searching for milk that hadn't dried out or expired while I checked the apps on my phone, sitting at the kitchen island. Jean had just woken up: bedhead, bed hair, grumpy face.

"I don't know what you two were doing last night but fuck, bastards, you could have chosen another night. Or at least done it faster. And _quietly_."

I choked on the cereals I was slowly chewing.

And Eren, he blushed from afar, pretending to still searching for milk in the fridge, to not have heard.

Jean went in the living room to grab the orange juice he'd forgotten on the table last night and in the meantime, quite by accident, Eren and I shared a look, a shy, embarrassed look. I thought Eren knew. He had to know. He couldn't possibly ignore what I'd done last night, not now that Jean had gently denounced the both of us.

Eren was embarrassed to get busted, and maybe he felt guilty to pleasure himself to the thought of Levi. As for I, I didn't need more reasons to be ashamed and guilty, I had _more_ than enough.

I finished my cereals with the lonely hope Eren hadn't done the math yet.

 _Yet_.

 

**

I didn't feel good.

That, in itself, wasn't such a surprise.

But I didn't know how I didn't feel good. My whole body seemed to rebel itself against me, crying out, every inner organ twisting and turning to make my head spin. I was close to a mid-day headache, in a middle of a vague and insidious nausea session, and awfully witnessing the quiet movements of my insides working as my stomach welcomed as much traffic as a local highway at the end of a holiday. There was gas in my intestines and smoke in my lungs, choking my throat before I could even inhale, making my chest feel heavy and stuffed. As if it wasn't enough, I'd added a spoon of milk in my coffee, and everyone knows I can't digest milk for shit. Still, I never learn, I always do this shit to myself.

In this precise moment, I wanted to simultaneously shit, blurp and vomit, which didn't seem like a good mix to me. And I doubt Erd would have liked that.

"What's up?" he frowned in my direction, feeling myself from afar, trying to see if he could come closer like I was some kind of contagious animal.

"Nothing. Just digesting." And I turned the page of the magazine I had in front of me, which I wasn't even reading, pretending to give a damn about it. Meanwhile, I thought of girls and their ability to shit and piss at the same time.

"OK," he muttered, slowly, like he didn't believe me.

That wasn't a lie, not entirely. Digesting was only a third of what I was going through right now. Physically at least.

Let's not talk about what was in my mind, because that'd probably make me want to vomit even more. Punch myself to sleep in the worse case.

"Then stay there, I'll take care of these," Erd went on as he pointed in index toward the pile of cardboards we'd been delivered an hour ago. Technically, we were open, but on a day like this, we only had cardboards to open and stuff to clean.

I appreciated, even though staying at the counter when there wasn't the shadow of a customer in sight tired me the fuck out. It was like taking the bus for an hour class and taking it again to come home. Two hours of waiting, walking and waiting again aren't worth an hour of bored, passive presence to class just so they can't add your name on a redlist or forbid you access to courses.

Problematics element, they called that. The so called "troublemakers".

It's not that I was problematic, at least not yet: it's simply that I didn't feel like they could teach me relevant stuff. The scholar way is too scholar for me. There's no passion in it, no sense, zero reason. The government tells them what to teach you and the teachers tell you to learn the exact same things, but it's pointless, because I'm not on this planet to learn what the government wants me to learn. Might be stupid of me to think this way, and I might be the only one to do so; but I guess it's a part of the character.

And I'm not talking about classes like Latin because they don't need intervention. It's all method and vocabulary and pure, sheer work of memorization. There's no thinking needed. I don't take Latin anymore, but there's plenty of it in Philosophy class.

The radio put on low in the background speakers played another song, and I recognized it instantly. _The Cure_.

 _Pictures of You_ slowly invaded the space, turning the shop into a teenager's room, nostalgic and overflowing with emotions, like the last sunrays of a summer day when the windows are open and everything feels easy. And temporary.

I remember being 17 and lying on my bed as the sun went low, leaving me with a bitter taste of nostalgia from times I hadn't lived yet. Now shit's different. I got used to it. I became way too cynical and I'm not surprised of things flying out of reach anymore. I take things as they come and then watch as they leave.

I heard Erd opening the cardboards with a cutter from there, the doors of the backstore open for once; meanwhile I stared at the small surface of the shop and the shelves full of things that had come a long way. It's only when I started working here that I realized how much I liked things _secondhand_. They lived, they traveled from hand to hand, the pages of books have been turned and turned, and the songs on old CDs have been played on repeat. Maybe this thought makes me feel less alone.

"Hi," someone called from the side, too politely to be someone I've already talked to, and I realized I'd zone out the whole time.

Indeed a woman was standing in the doorframe with a gentle smile, her hang thrown to her side with the strap across her chest. She was small, middle-aged, delicate. Not the usual customer type.

"Hi, are you looking for something in particular?"

Me talking made Erd stop, but he didn't appear back in the shop either. I don't think he really listened the conversation, just made himself smaller.

"Um yes, I'm looking for… movies?"

"Movies? OK, uh they're…" I started as I turned around the counter to get closer. "There." I showed a bunch of "tables" where baskets rested, filled with movies we'd ordered or been given.

She nodded as a thank you and walked away in the direction I'd indicated.

By the time I went back to the counter, the song was already almost finished. Funny how songs that remind me of summer last the less longer.

The song faded out to _Radiohead_ and I took back my place before the magazine, lifelessly checking the doors like a miracle would happen.

I was so close to throw up.

 

* *

 

 _Pyramid_ stayed in my head for the rest of the day, floating like a haunting, surreal melody of cold days and lonely shivers. It didn't bring any joy, but it left me peaceful, because that's what these kind of songs do.

They're slow, sad, almost lazy, but they're calm enough to make you close your eyes and rest for a second.

I pushed the door around 6 PM, and my phone vibrated in my sweatshirt's front pocket before I could even close it. Whatever. They could probably wait. I'm not that important.

(They aren't, either, whoever that is.)

Jean and Eren were sitting on the couch side by side, with glass bottles in their hands which I assumed were beers, and quietly commenting something as they watched the TV, although I suspected they weren't really watching, nor talking about it.

A paranoid part of me wondered if they were talking about me, but then Jean turned his head my way and offered his Kirschtein kind of smile, vague and brief, still honest. For a second I almost waited for Eren to do the same, even just by reflex to check what he was looking at, but he didn't.

It got me bitter for a moment and I let my backpack fall loudly in the floor, as much to catch Eren's attention as to contain my irritation.

My head felt better, so did my lungs, but I still felt heavy and prudent, nausea tickling my insides like a mischievious little kid. I think this kind of physical state scare me because I'm terrified of vomitting. Right now, though, I didn't care too much anymore. I almost considered it a relief, like taking out a band-aid, spine, or unblocked a nostril.

I needed to feel bad in order to feel good. Isn't it in my Philosophy notes or something? It rang a bell, vaguely, and I frowned to myself as I walked up to the kitchen without a word.

"Good day?" Jean asked, and he sounded about as tired as I was. I'd only fallen asleep at 4 AM.

"As far as good days go." I was lying, even though my answer wasn't exactly optimistic. It had been a horrible day. A very mentally, physically tiring day. I was exhausted and more than anything, I wanted to isolate myself ASAP.

"Eren's friend is getting pizza tonight, so he asked him to bring some here." After a second, seeing I wasn't reacting, Jean added, almost ridiculously: "Eren will pay, of course."

And then, that was it. I was done. Done with today, done with people, and I closed my eyes, feeling as if tears were about to stream down my face, even though there was none.

I was livid, and sick, and the mention of Levi's friend made me even sicker. There was no need to make sure it was Levi, Eren didn't have any other friend that Jean wouldn't call by their name.

I closed the fridge I'd barely had time to open before Jean's revelation, deciding the lack of food in it would make a good fuel for my own personal anger, and a reason not to stay here any longer.

Quietly, but loudly in my particular way, I walked to the stairs and struggled not to actually run to my bedroom, even when I realized I'd forgotten my backpack downstairs.

 _Sick_. I was _sick_. This word, right now, meant everything.

My mind was boiling, exploding like water that's been boiling for too long, and my body was toying with me, considering it a good occasion to worsen the evening.

And then as I threw myself on my unmade bed, messy sheets hurting my back as they created a thick bump under my skin, I was reminded of all the things I'd tried, so hard, so fucking really hard, to ignore until now. All the things that'd nicely make the icing on the cake.

Eren kissing me for fun in Connie's pool. Eren falling for his military friend, and _bringing him here_. Me masturbating to Eren. Eren consciously not looking at me.

I lifted an arm and put a palm on my forehead, and it was so hot, but I didn't care, because the headache was coming back and I could already feel it in my temples, knocking like drunk Jean whenever he'd go out and forget his keys.

 ** _Fuck_** this. Fuck them.

Then, out of nowhere, my door was flung open, making me jump in the process.

"What's your goddamn problem, Armin?" Eren asked, on such a bitter and dry tone that I noticed the sudden painful way my heart stopped beating.

He was standing in the doorframe, but I was petrified, suddenly aware of how obvious going back to my room had seemed to them, how hateful it had appeared, even though I'd do this so very often. I regretted not fighting to win Eren's attention, I felt like I'd given up too fast, and now more than anything I was regretting making Eren angry, because he did seem angry, as I'd rarely see him. Not against me at least.

He understood I wasn't going to answer him, palm still on my forehead and eyes glued to the ceiling fighting not to look at the doorframe, so he closed the door. The sound of my door closing never seemed so cold to me.

And I was left in the dark, silent and alone, wondering why I hadn't told Eren what was wrong.

In movies, such situations are solved by communicating. It even works with parents. Friends and parents come to your room and after a cold, three minutes fight, everyone sits the fuck down and softly tells the other what's bugging them.

But we're in real life. No such thing ever happens here.

Here we die because we're too fucking proud to communicate, too scared to initiate it, too clumsy to do it right. Here fights are never solved, they're only being tolerated, and, if you're lucky, forgotten.

Pretty sure Eren wouldn't forget _that_.


	13. the one with public bathrooms and broken feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay. Really, that's gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost gave up on writing his one but... a shitty idea came on and I was so eager to get rid of this chapter that I wrote the last part very... crappily. Okay, who cares.
> 
> oxymorts on Tumblr

 

 

On Friday, Jean broke his foot.

All stories start with the loser trying to impress the popular. They all end with the loser doing stupid, dangerous, provocative stuff to impress those they can't naturally reach, and then want to go back to the normality of their safe and correct life. That's when the popular finds a way to strike them out, to gracefully erase themselves out of their lives to run back to their popular fake friends. 

I'll take the risk of sounding arrogant, but I've never understood this popular trend. Why impress someone who doesn't care about you first, who even treats you like shit, someone you have nothing in common with and who would never raise a single finger to save you? And why are gullible people so easily attracted to them, almost pathetically, to the point of erasing their own personality? If they ever had any, that is. 

It was black outside but I could still hear the birds singing outside through my closed window, bringing imaginary smells of summer to my mind. We were getting close to that in-between hour stuck in the night's darkness but waking up like any morning, and here was I, comparing Eren's friendship with Levi to teen movies plots I didn't even like. And I was being bitter, yet again.

Slow, hazy music was playing in my left earphone, the only one I'd bothered to put on; it was the stuff Hitch had suggested, unknown titles and anonymous bands I didn't know existed. As far as quiet songs went, they were quite nice, and if they didn't make me feel lighter, they were pretty efficient and it came to making myself even sadder.  

A breeze met my skin and I frowned. There was no open window here. (It's hard to believe in ghosts when you're too depressed to care.)

I was sitting on my bookshelf as I'd usually do during sleepless nights, watching nature as it woke up element after another. The trees, the birds, the sky; then, at last, the people. As confirming it, a dusty car drove down our driveway, and when the engine stopped, nothing moved for a solid ten seconds. I watched, eyes curious even though I knew exactly what was going on, feeling like I'd miss something important if I dared to look away.

Which was dumb, really. 

Jean opened his door, the door of his own car Eren had obviously been driving and not to his fullest joy, and he got out of the car, leg first. Jean, in fact, had broken his foot last night, at the very same party they were going back from. Around a semi-hour after we'd arrived there, Jean was already drunk, and Eren, who had started drinking before jumping on the backseat of the car, was far out of sober reach. They fought as they'd usually do and magically, twenty minutes later, were laughing to tears daring each other to slide down the stairs on a swivel chair the fastest they could. 

Eren went first, all daring and wide-eyed, grabbing the underside of the chair like it was the last thing he could do, and earned bruises and sratches in copious amounts on his way down. Then Jean, while Eren was being blood-cleaned by Mikasa, grabbed the chair and tried to impress the mass by going down faster and getting zero bruise.

 _Bruises_ , he didn't quite get as much — but both Eren, Connie and myself had to drive him to the E.R. because the idiot couldn't help himself. We were all pretty drunk, some more than others, and finding the hospital hadn't been easy, but it had been much easier than staying on a not-so comfortable hospital bench for five hours, shoulder brushing Eren's, and occasionally feeling like vomitting (the smell didn't help). Five fucking hours of pure, dreadful silence and none of us dared to say a word; the only exciting things being Eren unnerving himself against the vending machine after being stolen twice a chocolate bar's price, or me nervously checking the time on my phone approximately 54 times in a row. 

Jean got out with a plaster cat from his ankle to his calf, and two very ugly crutches which, for some reason, weren't covered. Double fracture. We all emptied our pockets and gave what we have, aware of the fact we wouldn't be able to make more than one trip to the grocery store after that: after the crutches, we'd had to buy Jean's meds and plan everything for the daily injection he'd receive at home. 

By the time we drove home, I was already painfully sober, too sober for my taste if anything. The both of them, though, decided to drive back, and I watched with irritated eyes, in tired silence, as I repeated to myself what a dumb idea this was. They wanted to brag about what had happened and how it'd stay in everyone's memory, they wanted to get drunk again to make up for that shitty night, and they wanted to recount their adventurous tale before the sun would came up and one by one decimate their drunken friends off to sleep.

I didn't go.

It's not like I had been waiting for them to come back or anything. I couldn't care less, especially given how they'd acted all night, unpleasingly foolish-drunk and very persistent with everything. However, I hadn't been able to find any sleep, and sadly, for once, being given the house to myself, I hadn't been able to make the best of it either.

I'd sat on my bed, right against the wall, and waited for a sign. Wondered if I should do my homework — if I should even think of going back to class at all. Thought of doing the dishes. Kinda felt like cooking something nice. Also kinda felt like throwing myself off the closest bridge. 

In the end, as thoughts would often do lately, they drifted to the same direction as usual. Eren and his moronic life choices, and the very unappreciated effect he had on me. I'd say…secondhand. Because a boy like me, who doesn't care about much, will only care about what's bugging him _the most_. That included seeing Eren through Levi's eyes, for some boring reason I couldn't explain.

I'd drunk coffee after coffee to uselessly validate my insomnia, watching my bedroom's trash as it grew replete.

Jean talked loud something I couldn't comprehend, something that threw Eren shaking his head with a frown. He laughed in return, amused by Eren's reaction, and both doors closed with the same familiar sound at the same moment. Then, without any reason to it, Eren looked up, and there he saw me, spying on them like a teenage like in innocent rom-coms, watching from afar for the pleasure of the eye and the blind hope to relieve a loving heart. I wasn't that girl, but I technically was spying on them, indeed, and when our eyes met my first reflex was to turn away.

I didn't even throw myself off the bookshelf, I didn't pretend to be doing something else, I simply turned away, lamely, as if avoiding Eren's gaze more than the awkwardness of being caught red-handed. When I looked back, though, he was gone.

A second or two of Jean talking just as loud, a glimpse of his far, a shoulder and his left crutch before he'd disappear, though, and then the sound merged into the house, and next thing I knew, they were inside. 

I sat in silence for a couple of seconds, touching my chin with nervous fingers as if searching for the right solution to save the appearences: should I walk downstairs, pretend I gave a shit, ask how the party had ended, if they'd had fun there. Or should I stay here and pretend I hadn't heard them coming back, which was a blatant lie, and also accessorily a _pathetic_ one? I couldn't force myself to interact with two sleep-deprived, unnerved boys though. I couldn't give a damn.

Hell, Eren wouldn't talk to me anyways, why would I bother? He wouldn't look at me if I even dared to come down. As for Jean, he'd make me regret not staying in my room either way. 

So as I convinced myself I'd taken the right decision (although a very banal and unimportant one), I lied down on my bed and crossed my arms on my chest like a dead vampire, almost wishing for my mattress to swallow me and never spit me out again.

First thought that came to me, though, was that Jean and Eren looked good together. Like. In all honesty. 

Jean was the furthest thing from gay, that even though he'd always feel like one for some unknown reason. He wasn't feminine, he didn't stare at guys, he didn't particularly attract people's attention this way, but he was _too_ straight. You feel me? Too straight, straight enough to be gay. 

As for Eren, well, he'd made it clear he wasn't currently chasing the pussy. Whether he was bisexual or not, and whether Jean knew about it or not, I couldn't tell. But these were facts.

And yes, they'd look good. They had this kind of efficient energy, always attracting the other whether it was to fight or talk like friends; they'd share so much without really admitting it. And each of them were always on edge, hyper-aware of what the other was doing or about to do, trying to anticipate, or do better, or react to whatever like a chemical reaction. 

Just when I thought they'd hang out in the living room for an hour or two, eventually fall asleep naturally and wake up in 32 hours, thus leaving me alone, I heard my name being called from downstairs. It was Jean. And it was not, in fact, what I had expected.

"We're going grocery shopping, get your ass downstairs!" 

As if spotting a giant spider on my mattress, I went off flying; but I wasn't excited, oh no, I was about to tell them the story about a boy named Armin not going to the grocery shopping store with them. I mean, that's what I said, truly. 

Even though fifteen minutes later, I was stuck in Jean's car, again, with these two assholes.

The trip to the supermarket was heavy and hardly bearable, because we could feel the tension all around, floating in the air, above us, threatening to fall upon us at any second. Jean didn't look at Eren, and Eren didn't look at me, and I didn't look at anyone. And once we arrived on the parking lot, Eren drove around uselessly because it was empty but he, as a careless child, wanted the best place to park Jean's garbage. 

For a good hour, I dragged behind like those levels in videogames where you're in a mission, helped by a side character who awkwardly follows you the whole time, waiting for you to go where you have to go and do what you have to do. Eren's earphones hung around his neck, whenever I walked past I could hear Earl's _Couch_ playing at full volume in it. 

I was sweating. I hate public places so much. 

Today wasn't too bad though: it was empty, and I, above all, loved empty grocery stores. It had a surreal feeling to it, a strange kind of peace as you'd stroll from department to department. At least until you have to pay; everyone knows casual human interaction with strangers is an introvert's pet peeve.

I had the little money we owned in my pocket, toying with the corners of the torn bills like a child, wondering if we'd ever see the color of it again. We were having a hard time finding money, despite the jobs Eren and I had, and the help from Jean's parents, and deep inside I didn't want to face the fear of leaving this messy, familiar home to come back to my parents' place. Or rather, grandfather's. There wasn't much of a parent left in town for me.

Well, not yet. The postcard, I barely dared to think about it, and thought how strange it could be to get nervous at the idea of my parents coming back. What kind of life was I living? Who gets sick at the thought of seeing their parents again? I didn't hate them, no, in fact it was quite the contrary, exactly what was problematic. And I was a lonely child, with no other sibling to be compared to, and I couldn't tell if it was a good thing. Somehow, I didn't have to try to be perfect, they had no point of comparison; but I could hardly do better. 

And there was I, disappointing, failing to find the meaning of life. 

It's true, though. I didn't know what I'd do after university, if I even went through it, that is. What fate could be awaiting me? Nothing much, nothing big, that's for sure. 

"You coming?" Jean called, back half turned my way. I was standing in the middle of the department with my arms full of vinegar chips and sandwich bread, and probably had been standing there for a while. "Eren's trying to get us lost or something. And you're the one with the money."

I quickened the pace as he talked, irritated he'd even talk to me; it wasn't Jean's fault, he didn't ask for anything. Not his feet to be broken, at least. But I couldn't help it. Somehow, it was easier to relieve my frustration on others by quietly hating them, and since they'd never know, I would be able to go back to appreciating them without anyone asking questions. I wouldn't explain: how could you explain temporarily hating your friends, for no particular reason other than being a selfish, profoundly egocentric human being? 

In this very moment, the only place I felt like being was the abyss of my bed, with the overly warm comfort of its sheets drowning me, and the particular scent of it which reminded me of late night, sweat and loneliness. The perfect mix, right?

"What's the problem with you too? It's been a while since you exchanged any word. I'm getting worried, I think I might have become Eren's favourite after all?" 

He smirked at his own words and, at his sides, I faked the same. It wasn't funny to me, not because Jean was particularly unfunny, but because I didn't like the situation at all, and I hated to be reminded. Hell, I didn't even know what answer I could give Jean. I'm morbidly jealous of my best friend and his functioning social life, and scandalously bitter of him not including me in everything anymore? Pretty accurate, but not good enough for my tongue. I didn't quite want Jean to hear the truth, and I'm not sure he wanted to, either; Jean wanted to hear what he'd asked the question for. The assurance that he'd seen right, and the amusement of being the pacifist one.

"I guess so."

"I'd love to tell you he's sick without you but to me he looks pretty fine," Jean said as we both looked at Eren's distant silhouette, working its way from department to department, vaguely searching for something. He didn't mean to be harsh, but that's how he said it, and immediately noticed. "I mean… I think." 

Yeah, thanks Jean, for you precious and wise judgment. I'd like to hear it again, sometime.

Once again, I'm being severe. Jean's actually quite good at analyzing people, at least, he'd be if he tried, which he obviously doesn't. Jean had this familiar closeness with everyone, even people he barely knew, which made him a pretty good party comrade and a nice acquaintance. He was aware of the lastest gossip, of people's heartbreaks and victories, but sadly, he wouldn't be able to tell whether I looked happy or not. Quiet people like me, it's not that they don't get along with people like Jean — in fact, people like Jean just don't notice us too much. They don't see the point.

Maybe that's how I got to the conclusion that Jean knew very little about me, and way more about Eren, who didn't mind opening his mouth to prove a point; sometimes wrongly. I suspected he'd talked about it, and if not, about me, at least. Probably not in good terms. So I didn't ask.

"He never needed me to be happy. But it's good to know, thanks, Jean." He must have caught the sarcasm because he turned away a little, not too embarrassed, but most likely feeling sorry for me and trying not to get caught in the massive cloud of bitterness I'd let out of my mouth as I'd said the words. 

"His friend, Levi, he's very impressive." From the side he looked at me, awaiting my reaction. I gave none. "Sounds like he's been through a lot of shit, and been everywhere, or so. He speaks like he's seen the world."

"He's in the military."

"You know the guy?" Jean asked, and I remembered I hadn't told him about our first meeting, or the things Eren had claimed.

"We could say that." There was a silence, and then, I took a daring tone. "He sounds smart, yeah. Too much probably."

Bitterly, I was reminded of the change in Eren's behaviour, this slight but perceptible spice that only I had caught; and how he now thought he had the whole world figured out. An answer to everything, that's exactly what he thought Levi had brought. Saddening.

In our reality, Levi was a cool, popular guy who owned cars and guns, a guy who seemed to be everyone's friend. But in real life, as it was supposed to be seen, Levi was only a middle-aged man, unmarried, unloved, and lonely, who was deeply convinced he could find the slightest happiness in impressing others, influencing the most gullible, and arrogant enough to pretend not to grow old. 

Men his age had a family by now. A stable job, a poor paycheck, a sad sex life. Who knew what I'd be at 30 — but certainly not that. Levi fought in wars which didn't concern him, he influenced young kids like Eren who he probably didn't even care about. In the best case, at _least_ , and in my mind. Somehow I had the feeling he liked him enough, enough to appreciate him as a friend, or maybe more, or maybe less. Bitter minds tend to exaggerate. I do, a lot. But I keep it to myself so it's okay.

Jean didn't get to ask anything, although he looked like he was about to, because Eren called him (not me, of course), and he started jumping on his feet, clumsily lifting himself up on his crutches. From here, Eren's bleached hair pierced the sad landscape like a sun rising in a sleepy forest. 

Our eyes met, and it felt accidental, so we both looked away, and I pretended not to feel the way my cheeks burned from it. I felt hot, and uncomfortable, and ready to melt into the ground and disappear forever. God I really did hate public places.

 

* *

 

Our eyes met again, later, at home, when Connie brought Jean to the hospital to pick up papers, and Sasha visited. 

And I lost myself staring, and he looked back, and were both staring. Like being caught red-handed, it was too late to pretend and I didn't look away until he did, reassuring me with the thought that my blank face was probably the only thing left of my pride at the moment. 

I wanted to stop fighting for his attention, to stop giving him reasons to believe I would do anything for him; but I couldn't. It's not quite the truth, I wouldn't do just anything for him, not if I didn't want to. But his attention, I did crave it, everywhere and all the time, as if I was only existing through Eren's eyes and the way I wanted to. As if I didn't want to exist in any other way.

Pitiful.

And then I was gloomy. Gloomy but satisfied, perhaps because he was in the room, and I could feel his eyes linger on me whenever I didn't look. 

 

* * 

 

My lips ache at her touch; it's a pain from the inside, a quiet pain. 

In moment like this, I wanted all my secrets back. I wanted to be mysterious, to be looked for, awaited, someone you ask questions to because you cannot figure things out by yourself. I want to be the nameless character of my own story and attract eyes without them staring at the same time, and that's all the difficulty of being a boy between two selves. I want to be important, but I want to be invisible; I want people to care, but it would make me care too much. (Everything has a price.) 

And, quite scarily, I think to myself: nothing about this will ever remain. Nothing is permanent. Maybe, in a year, the things I did and the people I knew wouldn't exist anymore — not dead, but away, progressively, painlessly erased from my life, disappearing like a souvenir I didn't know I had lived. Maybe, in a year, I'll be stronger. But is strength worth losing all I have? That's when I realized I wasn't unhappy. I was depressed, for sure, but not unhappy.

I imagined us all in the same bathtub, Hitch and the rest of my friends, sitting in an ocean of thoughts as Eren and I would so often do. And as a whole, together, I had a feeling we'd have a good time. 

"I'm on my period," she mumbled as she took the cigarette to her cracked lips. I should quit smoking.

I thought of the eventual bloodstains on my sheets, but didn't give too much of a thought: my sheets were already in big need of a washing machine, so what else could be gross? 

"Then blood you shall lose."

"Hey," she straightened up on her elbows instantly, as if I'd triggered a vivid memory. "I bought you a plant."

I almost asked why, but the idea felt too nice. It was a small plant, twisted and funny-looking, sitting in the corner of the room where her index was pointing. It looked still good, still healthy, and I realized I'd make it die somehow. 

"Thanks, Hitch." And I meant it. I'd always wanted to buy tons of plants for my room, but I'd forget, or change my mind, or lack both the money and the assurance I'd be able to keep them alive. Which I certainly wasn't. Still, I meant it.

A moment ago, before she had even lit her cigarette, her lips were painted dark; a deep purple which seemed to emphasize the dimness of her skin. _I don't like to smoke with lipstick_ , she'd said, before smudging the purple off her lips with the tip of her thumb. There, leaning against the wall, she ran her thumb across her naked thigh and a thick line of makeup traced its way on her skin — at this precise moment, she looked younger, more innocent, and the way her smudged, faded lipstick sort of went past her lips made it oddly obscene. 

She'd looked like a character straight out of a novel, freshly out from a rough making out session and some fucked up feeling smashing. In the novel, that's how she'd call her relationships with others; with me, as it happens. In other words, she doesn't love, and I don't love her. We use each other to convince ourselves someone's gonna love us, someday. I'd love her if I could. 

I even thought I had, once or twice, when the night's deep and dark and lonely, and my phone vibrates at her name on my screen. 

Never been one to fall in love at the right time, with the right person, though. I've had crushes in the past, many, in fact. Girls I'd come across in high school corridors, others quietly sitting in a café, or another one, with a bob haircut and freckles under her eyes, angrily waiting for her bus on a bench. Momentary, temporary crushes, crushes you like to think about or tell others because both of you know you'll forget about it eventually; crushes you like to meet twice just for the sake of the eyes. 

So far, I've never had the opportunity to prove myself guys can't be part of the list. Mostly because half the boys in our small, dead-end of a town are either excessively stupid and ignorant, or very fucking straight. You'll never believe how many are both. 

That's why I kept telling Mikasa not to date boys, and by dating boys, I meant here, these ones, the shitty low-fidelity products Chicago had to offer. Funnily, she must have taken me to my word. 

So I thought of Eren, and how had he discovered to be queer, since he'd never come across any opportunity to discover it at all. I've never left his sides, and there isn't much I don't know about, so it left me wondering what exactly could have Levi done to open his eyes so efficiently? That's even crazier when you know how Eren is incapable of taking decisions, of picking things, especially if it concerns himself. Picking a sexuality, gluing a label up his forehead, then? Well, you'd rather be patient.

He was walking this way, though. At his rhythm, and with the constant fear of being somehow judged, since, I selfishly assumed, I'd been the first one to be in the confidence. 

For a boy who didn't stand a chance to build a stable, healthy relationship with another human being, I was pretty cocky to tell everyone I was straight. It sounds dumb, when everyone knows you're being atrociously picky: the day a boy wants my company is a fantasy, but a girl, an even bigger one. 

Hitch doesn't count. Weirdly enough, Hitch has known other boys, and she chose me. It'd count if I loved her enough to become blind, and stupid, and deeply annoying as all loving people are, which I am not. 

"I wanna dance to _Piece of My Heart_ ," she whispered as smoke came out of her mouth, eyes closing with a familiar weariness. 

"Erma Franklin's?"

"Joplin's, please." And after a pause, significant, she added, "God I wish there were more women in the music industry. Look at the generic shit men create… and then, right there, next to it, there's Janis." 

Hitch listened to pretty much everything, although we seemed to often settle on calm, low-fi songs which couldn't quite be labelled 90's or contemporary without immediate, minutious check. _Slowdive_ 's children, the next sadcore generation. 

"If women were to be the rulers, men would be dead." I felt her eyes turning my way and before a rush of bitterness could overwhelm her, I explained myself. "I'm not saying women hate men, which they can do, and which is perfectly fine because oh my fucking god do they deserve it. Most of them. No, but, really: men would be dead. They'd die. We're too stupid." 

"You think so?" she asked, looking up at me from where she was lying down. Straightened up on my left elbow, I looked back.

"I do. Who started wars? Men. Who was left and provided the weapons? Women. In fact I think it's kind of a metaphore. Men think they're the big deal, they think they're strong and powerful, and sadly, they probably are? But look at that. Women building weapons for the men to get killed? That's so fucking stupid." In fact, I had calmed Hitch down, but I'd lost my own thoughts. "If women ruled states and countries and continents, there'd be less space for stupid men to rule as well. Sure some women shouldn't rule, it's like everything. But you think when we act. By the time you came to the answer war is useless, we're dead and buried."

"That's a very gloomy thing to say. And it's not quite correct either, girls used to push men to fight, too." 

"I've heard of it. But women aren't responsible for men's decision to go. It's men's ego, once again, beautifully striking."

She lifted her eyebrows, surprised to agree with me, and nodded in silence before taking in another puff. She offered the third of the cigarette that was left, and sat up to kiss me. Gently, for no particular reason. 

Then she grabbed my laptop and after running a hand over her lower belly, probably fighting cramps, she searched for the song she'd talked about.

Ten seconds later, Janis was singing, echoing in my small, lifeless room, and the sun was setting outside. Quietly, without asking anything to anyone, going back to where it belongs, gone to shine up in other people's skies. 

"I won't dance if that's what you're gonna ask," I categorically said as she approached, now on her feet. She was only wearing a bicolor baseball shirt and a navy blue gym short that I assumed belonged to her by the way it fit her upper thighs. But it wasn't cold, and the open window above my bookshelf let us peer outside from time to time, at the sunset and the deeply calming colors of its downfall, the simple atmosphere of a day coming to its end.

"You fucker," she laughed as she took the cigarette back without even asking for permission. Hitch rarely did ask for that. I didn't mind. "I'm sure you're not even that bad. Do you think it's cliché to dance? I mean, it might be, but it's still nice."

She didn't dance, not really; she just moved, ever so slightly, from a side to another, balancing her weight in the void to create a regular wave, her knees bending a little with the music's rhythm. It was Joplin, so of course it was good, and powerful; but this song had its low sides, its saddening parts, especially with the way the seemingly joyful guitar melody actually echoed the melancholy of a love I hadn't even lived yet.

Good music can makes you relate to things you haven't even lived. It's called talent. And empathy.

"Hey," she called out of nowhere, and for a moment I thought she'd left the gas on. "You've never been in an underground club, have you?"

She wasn't smiling but it was obvious she was about to. No, Armin Arlert, the poor little boy, hadn't yet entered any underground club, mostly because clubs weren't my thing, and because I didn't know where to go, who to go with. It sure sounded like an invitation, though, however, I wasn't sure she'd manage to drag me there.

"No, I doubt it." With my reponse, Hitch smiled, crooked teeth and shiny eyes.

 

*

 

"I can't believe you're making me do this."

"You haven't actually refused, right. Now it's too late to go back I'm not paying for the bus for at least two hours. Come on, relax," she said and grabbed my hand. 

For the fun of it, I'd accepted — probably because Hitch had looked so excited about the whole thing. Dancing and clubs in general weren't my thing, but I couldn't quite tell what I'd found down there given I'd only made my mind up with fabricated opinions on the Internet and cliché movies. 

I looked around, scanning the entrances in case I needed an emergency exit.

"You're gonna be okay, Eren and Mikasa are coming, too."

I knew for a fact Mikasa liked this kind of place, and Hitch liked it anywhere she could drink, have fun, and probably kiss the pain away for a night or two. Mikasa, though, had another point of view — she wasn't searching for liquid despair or dim lights but for a place she'd feel good at, and maybe it had to do with her sexuality as well. We'd never quite talked about it before, and I took note to do it afterwards, but now that I knew what was happening with the Annie thing, it didn't seem strange to me that Mikasa would frequent such places and, even more, be respected here.

It was the truth. Mikasa was already there, leaning against a wall with her usual black dress, on which I spotted a tiny hole around the thigh. She was wearing ripped mesh tights underneath it, and black combat boots I wasn't quite sure belonged to her anymore, since we'd so often share shoes in the family. Her black hair was down and as straight as ever, naturally, and almost ironically, she had black lipstick on. No makeup, nothing on the eyes, absolutely nothing upon her pale skin — just black lipstick, which made her seem even whiter under the creepy industrial lights which dominated the entrance. 

She pushed herself off the wall and kicked the air with her cigarette to get rid of the excess of ashes, before turning to us with a gentle smile. I'm not sure how girls work, but she seemed to have a really good feeling going on with Hitch.

Hitch let go of my hand and I swallowed, looking around one last time. We'd come by bus, those night lines which stopped halfway through the night, and I hoped that Mikasa would drop me home on the way back, but I wasn't sure she'd leave this place before the sun would rise.

"I thought you'd chickened out."

"Never," I muttered, sarcastically, eyes still wandering. When I met hers, she was mocking me.

"So since it's your first time here, I'll have to explain some stuff before we go down. Hitch's been there several times, so she won't be surprised, but it can unsettle guys like you at first."

"Guys like me?"

"Shut up, let me talk." A pause, and she took the last drag of her cigarette before throwing it down the wet sidewalk. Funnily, some guy arrived from the left and since I refused to turn to check who it was, I ignored it pathetically while both of them stared with a casual kind of boredom. "First, the music. You're pretty… diverse, so I guess it won't be difficult. See, this place is almost like a strip club… except it's not reserved to men, and it's actually… cooler. You know? People aren't shy or afraid to express themselves and they can do whatever they want. Now don't be surprised if you get a glance of coke lines or a pills or two shared in the bathroom, those things are scandalously common here and it's also what makes it so lawless. Know what I mean? Don't freak out. Finally, I'd say that… it's not a strip club, so no one's gonna come up to you and grind in exchange of dollars, right. But the probability of people, all genders confused, going at it is very, very high, Armin."

I listened with child's ears, with the fresh surprise of discovering something I hadn't ever gotten familiar with. I could only imagine the place, somewhat gloomy and dismal, but strangely welcoming for people who didn't fit anywhere else at night, and since Mikasa seemed to love it this much, I figured I'd make an effort to grab my balls and hold them in place for the night.

That, until I remember what Hitch had mentioned.

"Where's Eren?" I asked, dumbfounded, as if coming back to life.

"Haven't seen him arriving, he's most likely down there. I dragged him here once so he knows what to do to enter and how to behave."

"Is it… private?"

"Mm, kinda," Mikasa replied as she glanced above her shoulder, ready to go down the five little steps leading to a black door. "Let's say you'll get in more easily if you got the right names. Don't worry, you've got me."

She knocked and someone, almost instantly, opened it; it took only a second to recognize her and the guy stepped aside, not minding us both dragging behind. Mikasa looked like she knew what she was doing, and this guy, he almost appeared to have expected her arrival.

Hitch smiling at me with amusement from the side, I realized I must have been awfully out of place. She'd asked for a black t-shirt, which I had had to find in the depths of my dirty laundry and wash it by hand in the filthy bathroom sink, before drying it out with a hair dryer, the whole thing with us both in underwear and Hitch holding her phone up to film.

A black t-shirt and casual ripped jeans don't look too sexy, and I didn't need to know the frequentation of this place to guess it wasn't the usual dress code. If Eren was here, though, I was curious to know what he'd found in the tiny wardrobe he called his. Hitch had put on a dark red wig, same haircut, and beneath her usual fur coat, she had a longer black dress than Mikasa, with lace on the bottom and three quarter sleeves. 

We walked along the corridor and I could hear the deep, loud music making the walls bounce from here. When we turn, dark fluorescent lights shone in all directions, oddly intimate ; and the music, very distinct, couldn't be mistaken.

"Now as cliché as it may sound, they blast a lot of Nine Inch Nails. But they have Depeche Mode, too, Sneaker Pimps, Deftones, Manson, Tool, all the good shit. I think it's safe enough to say you'll never hear a pop melody within these walls." 

Hitch chuckled, and I looked at the surroundings, unsettled, overwhelmed — but not totally bothered.

"Don't they have real singers coming from time to time?" I asked, quite naïvely, at the sight of the big stage.

"No," Mikasa turned with a frown while Hitch tried to understand what I was talking about.

"Why the stage then?"

And suddenly, the girls looked at each other with crazy eyes and a wide, wide smile — and like some kind of inside joke, they cackled without bothering giving any answer to my question. I understood this must have sounded stupid, and came to me the only response I could think of: strip-teasing, pole-dancing, or whatever they'd do down here.

"Armin, you've got _so much_ to learn about this place."

The club, called _The Black Tiger_ , held its name quite well. Hitch's recommandation to wear black had been well-thought, given there wasn't much out there not literally black, and the lights, even though fluorescent, were weak and somehow intimate enough, giving a sense of safety and probably efficient enough to make people at ease. I had to admit this kind of lightning, with this kind of music, was the perfect environment to literally _sin_.

Where's Eren? I almost asked again, but it had barely been a minute since I'd last had. So I waited. Painfully.

Because Eren hadn't talked to me yet, no matter the occasions, and I was starting to think there was way more to it than just me hating on Levi for particularly jealous reasons and selfish motives. I'd probably done something wrong along the way, and he wasn't going to give me a hint about it.

I looked around, as curious as eager to spot him, wouln't it be only to prepare myself, to brace myself for rejection and mere passive aggressivity — I wanted to show him I didn't give a shit, but at the same time, I obviously did.

Another NIN song came on, slow and obscenely sexual, which was fine to me. If anything, I actually liked NIN.

"Want a drink? It's the bare minimum here. After a drink or two, you can up your game and head for… more _hardcore_ stuff." 

Mikasa turned around and walked us to the bar, meanwhile, Hitch went on her toes and laughed in my ear, "She's not talking about alcohol."

With the way her white teeth shone in the darkness and her laughter, delicate and soft, echoed in my ear, I almost shivered. I couldn't imagine all the things happening here, I barely dared to look around at the people already here, sprawled on the sofas, drinking, laughing or kissing each other without any notion of time flying by. It seemed as though they were trying to swallow each other's tongue. Some had wandering hands, and I didn't watch too closely, fearing I'd catch something I didn't want to see.

Naked dancers were up on the counters, so high their eyes could barely be seen, and they looked like gods as they stretched their bodies to the sound of the slow, lascive music.

And yet, strangely enough, the sight was sort of… arrousing.

At the bar, Mikasa ordered a drink called _Infinite Red_ based on rhum and red fruits, while Hitch went for a classic lemon beer. I didn't know what to say, and quite dumbly, repeated the casual words: "Same as her," pointing my chin in Mikasa's direction as she laughed.

The barman looked at me with a frown, but ended up serving me anyways. I sure as fuck didn't belong here, that's a certainty.

"They call it _Infinite Red_ because once you drink it you never go back." 

"Go back to what?"

"It's yours to choose. Casual drinks, or simplicity. Or outside, period. It's like… a quiet agreement." 

I didn't get what Mikasa meant, but I took the red glass she was offering me, and as she drank hers, watched the dark liquid come back to its original place, staining the rest of the glass dark red. It looked like blood. I liked the visual of it.

I smelled my glass before her expecting gazes, and knew they wouldn't talk to me until I'd chug it down. So I drank it, just a sip — but it was actually good, so I drank another, and ended up drinking the whole glass quicker than Mikasa would.

We stayed at the bar for twenty minutes round, chatting and commenting the music, politely laughing at the people drooling on each other, and Mikasa informed me that most of them didn't know each other before coming here tonight. The thought, although cool for them (because people do whatever they want to do, right), scared me a little; but it didn't throw me off to the point of being blatantly disgusted, probably because I wasn't sober enough to embarrass myself with that kind of boring ideas. 

Minute after minute, I was getting sweatier and sweatier, but I liked it, and with each sip I felt my mind flying off my skull, building a world of its own, full of new adventures and opportunities. It might have been a drunk thought, but at this moment, I was almost sure I'd see things differently once I'd leave the place.

I had my lips lost in the strangely addictive red liquid when Mikasa choke on hers. "Oh, see, Eren's over there."

I turned, and indeed, he was there, talking with some guy. I squinted my eyes, awfully awake, and blood beat at my ears as I tried to see if it was Levi or not. Not that it'd change a thing, the fact was still that Eren was flirting with a guy; and when I turned back to my glass, I decided to drink it in one go. Mikasa stared lifelessly from a stool away, eyes unblinking as they followed my glass from my mouth to the counter. That's something she had noticed, and which she'd probably talk to me about later.

Mikasa raised a pale hand and Eren spotted us at the bar, not quite sure in the beginning, but as his face went softer, I knew he'd confirmed the sight. Now, I couldn't tell if he had actually bothered to acknowledge my presence. I was already irritated, greatly irritated, and I knew I couldn't bother having those thoughts tonight. He couldn't force me, he didn't have the right to treat me like an idiot.

He went back to his conversation with the nameless figure, undoubtedly a man, about our age, slightly older; Hitch and Mikasa resumed our own conversation as well, but I, somehow, couldn't detach my eyes off of him. Our eyes met, he didn't blink, and I felt myself go warmer, but he looked away almost instantly, as if I didn't exist.

The boy leaned forward for a kiss, at this time of the night, it was a correct time to start the warmup. I watched, horrified, until Eren backed off swiftly, and apologized with messy words as he scratched his forehead, suddenly standing. The guy stood as well, trying to hold him back, but he walked around the table and Mikasa, as if knowing he'd approach, rotated on her stool.

He kissed her cheek and nodded our way, both to Hitch and me, which I found surprising. He barely looked at me, not even when I stared.

"We decided to bring Armin 'round here," Mikasa explained without Eren asking for anything. The conversation heading my way made me uneasy, and I looked away as I now felt Eren's gaze burning on my skin. It's almost as if we couldn't look at each other at the same time without getting offended. "As you can see he's… slightly at his ease."

I couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but with the way Hitch looked at me, I could tell I was pretty drunk. Maybe the thing in this red liquid wasn't just rhum, what did I know. I wasn't a rhum expert. 

"Excuse me," I said sharply, and slid off the stool to head to the toilets.

Truth is, I had no need to pee or shit whatsoever, I just wanted to escape Eren's gaze. I couldn't take it. 

The music changed halfway through the room, some modern cover of _Back To Black_ with deep beats and slow vibes. I felt my heart bouncing as I walked there, the music so incredibly _loud_ and _vibrant_ that I could feel it bouncing in rhythm in my insides with every beat.

I pushed the toilet door and once inside, the music was just about as loud as it had been, expect muffled down a little, which gave a surreal aspect to it. The toilets were dark, as expected; walls painted black and cabins painted black, and black-framed mirrors above the suspisciously shiny-looking sinks, which I didn't doubt had washed many junkies' hands and cleaned self-stroken stained palms.

Just when I was about to decide what to do now, in other words, lock myself up in one of the cabins until the sun would rise, or lie down and wait for my death right there, on the cold tiles — the door behind me flew open almost _too_ brutally, and I tensed, the same way I would whenever my parents would fight. Embarrassed to stand there, I was about to stare at some point in the void waiting for the guy to find his stall, but the steps stopped almost instantly and I froze entirely.

It knew it was him, and god, I hated him for that.

"So what's the matter? Feeling hot?" 

His voice seemed odd, and surprisingly scary. It wasn't too serious, but not entirely light either, and I couldn't tell if he was trying to mock me or… intend something else, whatever it was. It was still dry, though, and I couldn't help but swallow dry the last bit of saliva this conversation would have allowed me. I didn't like it, and it hadn't even started.

I glanced above my shoulder and yes, it was him, pink-looking, all dressed in black. His white hair was the only thing contrasting with the surprisingly clean, neat all-black tuxedo he wore, which I didn't know he had. In fact, he had just a black shirt all buttoned up with his sleeves just about the same length as Hitch's, rolled up to his elbows in a somewhat attractive way. His white hair was messy and I wondered how many times he'd let that boy touch it, comb it with his foreign fingers, run them in it.

"If you came here to insult me, just say it so we can be done. I don't intend to bother listening to this crap if—"

"Shut up," he said, and my heart stopped.

"What?"

"I said shut up. Shut the fuck up, Armin. Are you stupid?"

I was lost, and insanely irritated, and my fists started to tense. I could bear Eren being angry at me, but him treating me like shit, I couldn't. I was about to fight back, enraged and deeply upset when he approached, way too quickly.

"You don't understand, do you." With that, he grabbed the collar of my shirt and I thought this would be the last thing I'd ever witness alive. Eren had fought a lot more than I had, he wasn't too muscular or strong, but he knew where to hit in order for it to _hurt_. "I hate you so much."

I frowned, far from lost. I couldn't quite place his words in the right context, it was like I'd missed three months of memories, a life that didn't quite belong to me, and Eren looked like a stranger in this very moment. 

"Fuck you Eren," I muttered, or rather spat at his face, and the way he softened for a second showed he hadn't expected me to react this way. 

He made his grisp tighter and in response, I grabbed his own collar, firmly, digging my long fingers in his neck whenever he fought back. We fought back, pushing each other around for several seconds, muttering insults we'd rarely dared to speak to each other. I didn't like this, but if it had to end this way, then so be it. And if I had to never speak to him ever again, then I'd survive. Probably.

It didn't go this way, though. He swiftly pushed me against the cold wall and, less strong than Eren was, I found myself unable to push him away any further. We stopped, looked at each other, and I was about to kick him in the junk when he plunged and sloppily landed his dry, alcohol-scented lips in the corner of mine. It was quick and messy, just like a child's, but it calmed us right away.

Unsure what he was doing, and frightened he was doing this to distract me, I stayed careful and, cold and distant, stared back at him with a frown.

"What the fuck was _that_ , Eren?"

We kept looking at each other, a second, then another; and he plunged again, with more confidence this time, and the hands we'd wrapped around our collars didn't move, if anything, they grabbed even tighter, pushing the other away and closer at the same time. When he kissed me again, it wasn't just an innocent smack on the lips, but for some reason, while alcohol made me feel dizzy, hot and surreal, almost floating, I welcomed him fully with my lips slightly open, enough for him to force an entrance as I grabbed the hairs in the back of his head to pull on it.

We parted in response, and he looked insanely red, all over; his cheeks, his face entirely. It gave him a charm, and I thought about this _Infinite Red_. Once you drink it, you never go back. Was it a ridiculous metaphore for Eren's warm face, as he licked his lips, eyes down to mine?

This time, without ever stopping pulling on his hair, gently, I hopped on my toes and reached for his lips, almost too shyly, to which he answered by pushing me back against the cold tiles once again. But this time, he came with it, firm and violent against my body, holding me in place between the wall and himself. I couldn't escape.

Not sure I wanted to.

My fingers began grabbing the lowest part of his hair instead of pulling on it, and my thumb landed down his neck, which allowed me to force him closer; and we kissed again, this time messily, and loudly, sounds of our breathing breaking and the unmistakable sound of saliva.

He pushed against me, hips against hips, and I moaned against his now wet lips; the music, still loud and slow on the other side of the wall, seemed to lull us off to whatever land we were heading, and I was okay with it as Eren's hands grabbed me entirely, one still holding the collar of my t-shirt, the other drifting down my waist, slowly easing its way down my pants where my hiphone started. His palm stopped there, flat against my bone, and the quiet caress of his fingers almost stole me a long, deep moan.

It was ridiculous, and I didn't know why I needed this so bad, but I needed this — and I didn't even know I needed this. 

I knew I was too drunk, I knew we were too angry, I knew we'd regret it once we'd leave this empty bathroom, but I couldn't help it, just like breaking a promise made to yourself sometimes feels so good. I wasn't going to search for self-control deep inside me when I couldn't even control the way my fingers tightened around his neck, the way my hips searched for his, desperately, as I bucked them against him.

Within seconds, I recognized the distinct form and feel of a raging hard-on through his pants, and the concept of it itself made me incredibly hot; I threw my head backwards and it hit hard against the tiles, but it didn't hurt as much as it felt good. I wanted Eren to be firm, to be tight, to keep me awake until he'd be finished, and then, we'd shamefully go back to our pointless lives.

"Mm—fuck, Armin—" he tried, and the way his words merged together, forming a breathless mess, couldn't arrouse me more.

I opened my mouth, searching for air, but he took advantage of it and slipped his tongue inside. Now I understood why this kind of place makes you try to eat people's tongues, because in this very moment, right here and now, all I wanted was to eat his, to bite his lips and suck on his neck both slowly and roughly. It felt as though we didn't have enough time, but we were already rushing, and I couldn't help the escaladating rush in our veins, making us more brutal, more urged with each move, each carress, each kiss.

I slid one of my hands up his head then back again, down to his sides until I grabbed his shirt, pulled it off his pants, and slid my hand back up again, but against his warm, sweating skin. In response of my hand so close to his groin, so firm, so eager, he bucked his hips against mine and we both lost our breath, desperate to come. I couldn't remember how it had started.

Tentatively, he put his palm on the back of my hand and lead it lower, lower again, until it reached the edge of his pants. There, he pushed gently and once our fingertips slipped underneath, he closed his sigh a content sigh. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do — and just when I thought he'd keep his warm hand over mine, he slid it off and, without asking for permission or me even expecting it, he slid his down my pants, and quicker than I could ever, grabbed my raging boner with furious eagerness.

When my fingers wrapped around his, he sighed again, but loudly — quiet, contented moans on the edge of each breath, as if he couldn't contain it inside. A desperate sound followed, from the back of his throat, and I made my grip firmer before carefully pumping up and down just like I'd do to myself.

In reponse, he just closed his strong fist around mine, and I cried out with how intense the touch felt, with how _firm_ his grip was. 

And here, searching for each other's tongues, restlessly trying to kiss as we both lost air, jerking each other under the dim lights of a public bathroom, to the sound of yet another NIN song playing outside, we held on, for a minute, and then two, and three, and four; and when we felt just on the edge, we were crying out in pain, wildly searching for friction with violent thrusts of our hips. 

I recognized the last phase as my eyes shot open, and everything shook inside as my back arched against the wall, and my groans turned into moans, which went louder and louder, higher and higher, gradually more desperate with each second, with each stroke of Eren's palm.

And when I came, hard and mad, cringing and holding back the muffled sounds as I choked on them, Eren looked down at me, frowning but well conscious, his mouth agape and breathless, his hand still furious on my member as mine worked his faster and faster. I couldn't fail him, he was so close, and the climb was my favourite part; I wasn't down my high yet, lungs exploding in my chest and hips giving the last and most brutal shifts against his, and watching as he went over the edge made it even sexier.

"Armin, I'm coming—"

At the same time, someone knocked on the door, and he jerked his head backwards, almost so violently that I feared a whiplash, and Mikasa's voice came to us.

"Boys? We're waiting for you, hurry."

Mikasa's voice bounced off the walls as Eren rode through his orgasm, silent and looking in agony, his free palm grabbing a bunch of my hip skin to keep the pleasure contained.

He finally closed his eyes, and breathless, let out a last, quiet moan only I could hear. 

"Boys?" she called again, hearing no response.

I was petrified, at the idea that she'd enter and spot us like that.

But Eren instantly slid his hand off my pants and, looking at me right in the eye, licked his cum-stained palm as I lost all air.

And just like that, without a smile, a word, a kiss, he felt and the door closed behind him.

The music kept going but, glued to the wall, I was already far.

This night, I dreamed of Hitch and Eren crawling to me on a bed that wasn't mine, both looking at me with arrousal burning in their eyes, but it was Eren who reached for me first, and when his hand reached out for my junk, he whispered things in my ear that I couldn't comprehend.

I woke up sweaty, in the middle of the night, with bloodshot eyes and no idea what to do. 

When I'd joined Mikasa, Eren was gone, and Hitch with him; for a minute, I held back the jealousy as I imagined them furiously making out in a dismal backstreet, before reminding me Eren was gayer than I'd give him credit to be. I couldn't tell if it was a relief, but, anyways, when I went home, dropped by Mikasa with a gentle goodnight smile, I ran straight to my room without trying to know if Eren was home.

Petrified, buried in layers of sheets independently of how hot I felt, I doubted I'd ever be able to leave this room. What had happened in this bathroom had nothing to do with the wet dream I'd had at the music festival, or the daydreaming fantasies of curious sexualities during philosophy class. In fact, I didn't know what _this_ was.

But, deep inside, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't enjoyed every second of it.

 


	14. the one with the barbecue and the baseball field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess things are getting messier and messier with the days, to Armin's (and pretty much everyone else's) dam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà. That's it I guess
> 
> http://oxymorts.tumblr.com

 

We didn’t talk about it the day after. The day after this day either. In fact, Eren pretended this had never happened.

On a sleepy night, I’d stupidly claimed it was time I stopped smoking, and Jean had decided to take my word on this. So here was I, now, pathetically locked up in his own car, caring less about the fact that he’d be able to recognize the smell than the safety Eren’s would assure. 

On the driver seat, with a random radio on playing _Tears For Fears_ , I was smoking a cigarette like a thief, windows down, letting the cold evening get the best of me. With the dry stick between my fingers, I rested my forehead against my thumb, elbow on the door, and sighed as deep as I was able to.

I pondered, alone.

Lifting my shoulders to build friction and heat myself, I came to the conclusion it couldn’t be helped. Because, see, the problem had slightly changed direction, so that now, all the quiet time I’d spent trying to figure Eren out had become a nameless waste.

Eren _did_ talk to me. He did, like a stranger would, like a vague, bored acquaintance would, relieved to see me go whenever the small talk ended.

I rarely pushed, much less initiated the conversation, but sometimes Eren would come up to me with stupid subjects I knew he didn’t give a shit about, and pretended to be interested as he walked around, doing his things, living his life, day after day.

It’d been two weeks now and there hadn’t been a night I hadn’t completely wasted, closed eyes helplessly reminding me of the sensations I should have by now forgotten. Anyone would have. 

This night, on the way home, Mikasa and I were alone in her car, since we hadn’t heard of them for hours. She’d asked me what had happened between Eren and I, since, according to her, he’d kissed her cheek again before leaving without a word. To that, she’d added that Hitch had received a text, a minute later, and apologized before heading outside, to which she had only responded with a friendly nod.

The brutal, insane fear that they’d left _me_ to do whatever it was _together_ , had sent shivers down my spine until the sun had risen, and to this day, I still didn’t know what had happened. I hadn’t asked Hitch, for the very reason that it wasn’t my business, and Hitch and I weren’t together. A part of me also didn’t want her to think I was jealous, but jealous of who, that was the bitter question.

I knew Hitch rarely bothered herself with questions, and she sure as fuck didn’t think it would be a problem. Yes, Eren was definitely _gay_ , but he hadn’t mentioned he didn’t like girls like I did. Endless scenarios played in my head night after night, each one getting worse, each one leaving me lost and alone, deeply hurt.

I was losing my best friend one night at a time. And I couldn’t do shit about it.

I would have survived if the wound had been open, yet slowly shrinking; out of sight, out of mind. But Eren was everywhere, even more than before, as if he knew exactly the impact his presence had on me, wouldn’t it be only with the way he’d look at me, cold and distant, but with a contradictory smile.

Eren was a hard one to understand. But I had by far reached that point of misunderstanding, I had by far gone past the bearable layers of puzzlement and worry. To fight with a friend, to ignore one, those are normal things and sometimes they do need to happen for the relationship to go back to its roots, healthier, for the long term. But this, it had nothing of a good thing, a _necessary_ kick – two weeks was a long time when the kick itself was on a normal basis. It’d come to the point where I asked myself, buried in my sheets on a cold night after Christmas, if I shouldn’t move out.

What had I then told Mikasa?

I’d told her we had fought, and it wasn’t a lie. We had, and the visible traces of Eren’s nails were still present on my body, the faint print of his hand somehow there, most likely in my mind. I hadn’t mentioned a kiss, much less what had happened as we’d mutually fight for air.

In fact, not talking about it had almost made me believe it had never happened. That it was yet another weird, obscure wet dream I’d never bring up with anyone, because it wouldn’t mean anything. You dream, you wake up, you forget. That’s how it works, isn’t it?

Waking up is, in itself, forgetting more than 50% of the dream.

So why, once woken up, couldn’t I forget any second of it, even the slightest, insignificant detail?

One particularly sleepless night, I’d slipped myself off my bed and locked myself up in the bathroom, turning the sink water on as I began to cry on the closed toilet’s lid. I choked on my own sobs and, nose getting runny, decided it was time to man the fuck up and took a lukewarm bath to see how long I could survive underwater without breathing.

I wasn’t going to try to hold myself down just long enough, I just wanted to _see_.

As a joke, Hitch had talked about going back to The Black Tiger, to which I’d grinned as sincerely as I was able to. We never went back. Not me, at least.

Sometimes, when Eren would take his car at 2 AM and leave, I’d wonder where he was heading. If he wasn’t going to the underground club to jerk another faceless boy off in the bathroom. I wouldn’t know.

Maybe it was Levi he’d jerk off. Maybe they’d even done it in our bathroom when I was away.

I turned the radio louder and took what looked to be the last drag, although I knew damn well I’d never learn and try to smoke it as long as it didn’t burn my fingers. I had enough, thinking about him, when in return all he did was to fake a friendship I used to build all my life around. It’s true. Now, without Eren, as stupid as it may sound, I was empty. A shell, deprived of any surprise, of any taste and interest.

I was dull. Insipid. Uninspired.

I’d rather he ignored me. No matter how bad it would taste, it couldn’t be as bitter as the careless words he bothered to throw my way.

I took the last drag and threw the cigarette above the open window before waving my hand around to chase the smoke. I opened the door, turned the radio off, got up. Stepped on the cigarette butt.

As I drifted back to the plain silence, I was reminded of the sound of Eren moaning in my ear.

My cheeks reddened, and I slid my hands down my jean jacket’s pockets. The breath I exhaled formed a wide gray cloud.

I didn’t want to go back inside. Inside, there was Jean, and there was Eren, and I didn’t feel like bearing the sight of either one. Not tonight, not ever; I needed space and tranquility.

That’s why, maybe, I went up my room without a word, hoping they hadn’t heard the front door, and sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hands.

The latest text, after Connie sending me a video of a Fail Best of, came from my mom. It said, story short, that they were heading back at Chicago, for at least a week. And the question I’d had glued to my lips for the entire day, since, approximately, I had seen her text, finally came down my fingers.

_Can I go back home for the week?_

And that was it. I watched as the blue bar crossed the screen and the familiar plop sound made it clear it was too late to go back. Sure, if I wanted, I could tell her I’d changed my mind – but in theory, me asking this question meant something big. Not only that I was ready to go back to university for good, and talk to my parents again, but that I, too, had decided to take my distance.

A naïve one would have said “until things get better” but I doubted there had any scenario where this ending existed.

Almost instantly, the text was marked as read, and Mom began typing.

_Of course! You have the keys, you can then clean it before we arrive since we’re going to be roommates..._

Add to this a cocky winking emoji, and you have it.

I glanced at my nightstand drawer which contained the double of my parents’ keys, in case of emergency, buried underneath layers of chocolate bar papers, loads of pens that didn’t even work anymore and used tissues.

In another text, my dad had precised the day of their arrival: in two days, grossly.

Tomorrow, I had four hours of class at uni I knew I couldn’t afford not attend, because of my fresh, illusory resolution about going back to the child my parents wanted me to become. If I couldn’t aim at being an adult with responsibilities and a future full of opportunities, I could at least go back to the kid they wished I’d stayed, smart, serious, happy as can be.

A part of me had always been depressed, somehow, tired of the secondhand impressions and those society frames I had to fit in. But there were things I didn’t know back then, things I wished I still ignored.

So tomorrow, I would go to my classes, take notes, be the lifeless person they want me to be, and come back here; and the day after, I’d get the fuck out of here.

For a week, at least.

The subtle apprehension of seeing my parents after all this time left me petrified, but I couldn’t stay here if it meant I couldn’t get my shoulders to relax whenever I heard steps in the corridor, or stop breathing whenever I heard sounds from the bathroom at night. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Every night, I’d have a hard-on, and I’d painfully ignore it, because touching myself to the thought of him was beyond me.

How hypocritical, however, it was of me to think this way, since it wouldn’t be the first time. The only difference was, I’d be insanely ashamed if he’d find out, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction to think he’d had an impact on me.

Many times, I wondered, why did he do this? Wasn’t it a way of humiliating me, something to make me look away whenever he entered the room? 

But then, it came to me. I wasn’t the only one in this bathroom, this night. Eren was here, too, and it was his cock I had between my fingers, as hard as it was humanly possible to be. Hormones are a thing, especially for boys our age, but you can hardly fake a boner like that.

To that, I’d always answer: men cannot control their hard-ons; a solicited dick is a dick that won’t stay flaccid. 

My hand thoughtfully drifted down my groin, and I closed my eyes as I cringed. Not getting off for days when my libido was so _horrid_ was painful.

I lied down, the light on my nightstand still on, and with my phone in my hand, fell asleep without eating dinner.

 

*

 

“You have been around a lot,” Thomas joked around. I gave a shy, passive grin, but it wasn’t funny to me. “Are you discovering yourself a passion for studies? Interesting.”

“No. Just trying to get my semester. The sooner I get out of here, the better.”

He nodded, knowing exactly what I meant. This college was too big for classes to be divided, hence the big number of students per subject. I had never had any class where we hadn’t used the amphitheater, which I was okay with, since it made me able not to listen, or not be there at all, and while Thomas would play video games or check his mails on his brand new laptop, I’d look at my faint reflection and think of the different days I could die in this room, _Final Destination_ style.

Politics, philosophy, German – those classes, I knew them too well. I wasn’t too good in either of them, because the level they wanted us to reach was only made of what they wanted to see, but I came to the boring conclusion I could skip any philosophy lecture without a problem.

Thomas proposed to pick me up on Monday, which was enough to lift my mood a little. Taking the bus is seriously a god way to depress yourself, especially if they’re always full of thugs and creepy old men. Bus chat is a concept to me.

We got up and gathered our stuff while the rest of the amphitheater did the same. The professor was already gone, so we took the freedom to talk as loud as we wanted to. Thomas was a very social dude, but somehow, he’d always drift back to me, whenever I was around, which I deeply appreciated, because he was nice, and because I hated to be alone in public spaces. So he’d stick with me, and I’d stick with him, and the more I went to uni, the more I came to appreciate the guy.

Yet, we weren’t _this_ kind of friend. I didn’t tell him about my problems, and he didn’t share his, and we pretended both to live happy, fulfilled lives without any cloud in sight. It seemed to work with us. If I wanted to get drunk over my life choices and lonely life or fuck the pain away, I could still go to Hitch’s, and if I wanted somebody to smoke bud with me to try to convince me everything wasn’t shit, I had Mikasa. And that was... about it.

I pushed the brand new can I’d bought before the lecture towards him and he looked down at it with puzzled eyes. “Is that for me?” he asked, and when I shrugged, he gave a sideways smile, half amused, half grateful. “You’re giving my heart a boner, Armin.”

Nice. Really cute.

It wasn’t as fresh as it had been, but staring at it for an hour and a half, unwilling to ever open it, had tamed my thirst somehow. There were still drops of water rolling down the sides of it, splashing down on the wooden surface. Thomas took it in his hands, and wiped his right one on the side of his jeans, before repeating the motion with his left hand. I watched, ever so patient, and we walked down the amphitheater like we were leaving a cinema.

“That was... pretty boring,” he concluded when I pushed the door, and held it for him, to which he murmured a thank you by reflex. “Boring, and it also made zero sense. I’ll be forced to look that shit up when I’m home, and I barely have enough time for myself to shower.”

I grinned. If he were me, he wouldn’t bother showering at all. In fact, that’s the least of my problems.

For a second we walked at the same pace and he looked at me from the side as he opened his can, his bag’s strap across his chest. I didn’t like him staring but I kept it to myself, knowing he was probably just hesitating.

“Do you wanna go to this new coffee ship around the campus? It’s a little bit expensive but, I’ll pay for you,” he added as he raised his can and took a sip.

I didn’t appreciate the fact of him paying for me, but I wasn’t going to play the humble guy and say no. Since Jean’s clever drunken fall, I couldn’t afford decline such offers. So we headed to his café he was talking about and I’d rarely seen a more _campus_ place. The exterior was almost entirely made of wide glass windows, full height, and from there I could see the tons of lonely teenagers trying to find excuses not to work around a warm black coffee. Inside, I couldn’t deny the hipster atmosphere; well-dressed students with hats of all kinds and neat shirts, flags of our college’s basketball team’s emblem, which no one knew about, and original posters of trendy musicians. With such light and indie pop playing in the background, it could have been mistaken for any other teen café.

We walked to the counter and I almost expected to recognize those who worked here after their classes, but no, I didn’t know anyone, not a single soul, which left me even more lonely. I wasn’t too sad about it, not as much as I was struck by the realization that I didn’t have many friends ‘round here. More of a surprise, bitter and fierce, than raw sorrow.

Thomas only bought a chocolate bagel and I much dumbly said I’d take an apple juice. We sat on the nearest free table and somehow, we both ended up taking out stuff out as if working had been a common agreement.

I opened my laptop and took out my messy notebook, to which Thomas took out his Philosophy book and the copybook almost entirely made of bored scribbles and sketches. If Thomas were more patient and more rigorous, he’d make a good drawer.

I looked at my full glass. Man, I didn’t even like apple juice.

“I hate fucking Freud,” I said, louder than intended, and Thomas quickly raised his head with surprise. “I fucking hate that guy. That’s bullshit.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“D’you remember what the prof said at the beginning of the year?” I frowned, so he went on. “He said something like, we’d all at some point find the philosopher that’s made for us. You know, our _type_. After some really messy and bloody essay, he came to me and told me mine appeared to be Kant. Can you believe that? 

I chuckled in my turn. Kant? Well then.

After some time, as if he’d been waiting for me to reply by reflex, he added, “What about you? Who’s your guy?”

I cringed and thought a little. I liked Philosophy but there were many things I didn’t approve with the philosophers we’d study. Many theories I couldn’t quite like, many things I refused to accept as true. Philosophy, after all, is almost personal, which is a weird contradiction. “I think I like Schopenhauer a little, but just when I think we have the same mindset, he starts getting too... philosopher. You know, they have at some point to drift away a little and make things literally insane. You go from, oh ok that’s possible, to, well no that’s literally not it.”

He nodded. We’d all sensed it at some point of our studies. 

“That’s a shame, I think. Many of them could have really good theories if they’d only stop losing their selves in all directions and make it too personal.” I took a sip, and pretended not to recognize the violent taste of watery vomit in my mouth so that Thomas wouldn’t regret buying it for me. “Anyways.”

We read the few pages we were supposed to read, and I started working on a plan for our next due essay. Thomas quickly began scribbling on the corner of his page, and I watched, unmoving, from my leathered bench, thinking he might have chosen the wrong cursus.

“Ever thought of becoming an Art student?”

My question threw him off and almost like he’d expected me to go full silent for another hour, he looked at me with puppy eyes. I bet he didn’t even know he had potential. Not a gift, but potential, so why not take advantage of it? He’d be much better scribbling in art class than scribbling anywhere else.

“Are you fucking serious, no, I’m shit.” And ironically, he went back to his messy black on white drawing. 

“I’m just saying. Consider it,” I concluded as I went back to my laptop, head barely held by the sore knuckles of my fist.

Halfway through my plan, I decided to stop working. I was one of those serious students who had good grades but didn’t like working more than thirty minutes in a row. I’d have trouble focusing, at home or anywhere else, and the brutal disinterest about the subject would always make me... switch off from it.

“Hey, Connie’s making a barbecue tomorrow afternoon. You should come,” I offered. In fact, I didn’t want Connie, Sasha and Jean to suddenly disappear into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Eren in the backyard. Thomas knew me more than he knew anyone else, so I figured he wouldn’t get too far. “It’s at, like, one in the afternoon, and usually ends at six with everyone stuffed and sleepy. Let’s just hope it’ll be a bit sunny.”

“Sure, I’ll come.” He smiled, that clever-boy kind of smile, the child who had everything a parent could dream of. It made me sick for a second; if my parents ever met him, I’d be fucked. Technically speaking, I was smarter than him, but I was also more unwilling, more skeptical. Less likely to end up rich, famous and loved. 

Or, not likely at all.

Jean with his insane, random luck would probably win the lottery, and Eren would probably become a famous street racer with lots of fans, bright, shiny cars and money paid cash. He’d probably leave the country with Levi, too.

This thought made me even sicker.

 

*

 

“I’m thinking of becoming a stripper.”

“A stripper?”

“Yeah, a stripper. But not a $2 stripper, I mean, a classy one.”

I didn’t quite know the difference. Not that I hated strippers, or didn’t think it was a job like any other, but stripping is stripping no matter the place and body.

We were supposed to pack my things and head to my parents’ house at the end of the day, but we’d lost ourselves along the way, I guess.

“I asked Mikasa what she thought about this idea the other day, and pondered about it since then. In fact, it was Mikasa who suggested it first. She said I’d look good in the, whatever underwear the girl was wearing.” 

Hitch was talking about one of the dancers at the Black Tiger, and I chuckled slightly. Man, Mikasa complimenting a girl on her body, that didn’t seem too unusual; especially now that I knew her motives. If it weren’t for Annie, I think they would have made out this night, with me right next to them.

I didn’t mind.

“Well, it’s true you’d look good in anything. Or... naked,” I articulated, awkward and amused. “I mean why not. I doubt you’ll try to go back to Kelly’s, will you?”

She shook her head with a bitten lip and I found it cute. Then she crawled to me, her only in purple lace panties and me completely naked, lying on my bed. 

“Hey Armin,” she sang lightly and I knew she had something on her mind. I straightened up on my elbows, frowned. She straddled my stomach with a mischievous grin. I felt good.

“What?” 

She smiled, too much, her mouth went wide and I could see each of her teeth. Hitch looked good, this way, her blonde hair messy and smudged makeup all over her eyes. For a second, I thought she’d answer, but she burst into laughter again and I couldn’t help but smile, too, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“What?”

A porno was silently playing on my computer, on the edge of the bed.

“There’s something I really want to try but I’ve been too, you know, afraid to ask.” 

If it was about oral sex, I didn’t mind. In fact, pleasuring the other was as much, if not more important than being pleasured. If everyone followed this philosophy, though, we’d all have a hard time giving oral sex at all, fighting for the upper hand minute after minute. 

We’d tried many positions and although we hadn’t particularly evoked anal sex, I knew she wouldn’t be against it.

“What?” I repeated once again, slightly nervous.

“Jeez, hm.” She frowned, cringed, braced herself for mockery and disgust as she put her palms on my pale chest. “I want to have a threesome.”

My smile fell, for a second, and she cringed even more, soundless, waiting for my reaction even if bad. But it wasn’t because of her, it was because of me, because faithful to my self, the first thing I’d pictured was probably the thing I wanted the least. Eren, of course.

I licked my lips, took a breath and tried to imagine us with someone else. Anyone. Someone I didn’t know. I thought about the girl who’d served our drinks, with Thomas, at the campus’ café. She looked nice.

“I mean, yeah, why not. That’d be a little... weird but. That’s hot.”

Her smile flashed instantly back on her face, and the glow in her eyes meant everything. She’d feared my judgment, although she knew perfectly well there was no judgment between us.

I hadn’t told her about Eren, and I didn’t think I would ever. But the thought lingered, and for a moment, as she arched her back to kiss my neck, I almost did. 

I couldn’t even remember if Eren had kissed the same neck as her. I could barely remember where he had put his hands. Even more horrid was the fast that it’d frustrate me.

But then I thought of how selfish it was to think about Eren while we were so intimate, so I stroked her hair and she looked at me with a gentle smile. I was addicted to physical proximity, to the impression I mattered to someone. The illusion of codependency, no matter how much I liked myself independent and self-reliant.

Hitch was the best person I could do that with. Mikasa was gay, and I knew her too well; but Hitch and I were the same, we were just perfect for each other in this very moment. Maybe someday we’d agree to stop this, maybe we’d still go out at times and jerk each other off in the back of a cinema, who knows. Still, surprisingly, it was still friendship in the rawest way, and I cherished it.

I slid a flat hand down her back and the way she shivered made me shiver, too. She sighed a little, content with the touch, so I repeated it. I kissed her neck in my turn and she slowly let her head fall backwards until it couldn’t bend no more, so I sat up with her still straddling me, and the way she knowingly rolled her hips to caress the flaccid, careless dick between her thighs almost made me instantly hard.

Hitch didn’t like labels, she didn’t like myths. She didn’t see sex as a form of art, or a hobby, but as self-medication. Sex with me, at least.

I couldn’t claim I was good at it, and I’m not sure she was, either, but we were just fine. We didn’t need extreme. We barely needed a bed to do it on, the ground would have been just right.

But then, Jean came in, without a knock of a word, and it took us all a few seconds to realize. Jean wasn’t looking, at first, as we weren’t making any sound and he had a paper in his hand, but when he started talking, and ended up looking up, panic flashed in the air.

Hitch yelled with surprise and amusement, and crashed herself against my chest to hide her breast. Jean hid his sight with a straight palm before his eyes, and I tried bringing my legs upwards to hide whatever there was to hide, ending up stimulating us both. “Fuck.” I moved around, but it was only worse, so I stilled and the awkward situation got the best of me. “What do you want?”

“Hm. Just. Thomas’ soon there, and the barbecue is ready. We’re all waiting for... hm... never mind, I’ll let you finish packing, or whatever you were doing,” he said and walked backwards, door clicking distinctly as though he was scared to see it open again. “Hurry!” he cried out from the other side, and then his steps vanished in the stairs.

Hitch sat back on my knees with a mad smile, and we had tears in her eyes with how much she wanted to laugh. She bit her lip again, and I crashed a hand against my face as I snorted. We laughed for a second or two, and moved around as she tried to point my cock at her entrance. When she lowered herself, we were just a mess of pleasured groans and wild laughter.

 

*

 

When we arrived downstairs, Jean was still there, searching in the fridge for some food we could bring there. Our stuff was already there, or Jean’s, at least, but he’d come back unexpectedly. I realized with horror he must have heard the end of it, if he hadn’t moved a bit since then. 

And by the face he was trying to keep away from us, he probably had.

“I thought we had ketchup.”

“Doesn’t Connie have ketchup?” I groaned, and he shrugged, determined not to step away from the fridge and meet our gaze. 

Hitch laughed at my sides, mocking and amused, as usual, but so light I almost felt blissful. We’d been blessed with reasonable sunlight, today, and it was hot enough to stay in T-shirt, with, according to the January weather, was quite a miracle. I think Connie might have a gift when it comes to planning barbies.

“It’s okay Jean, we’re dressed now,” Hitch joked, and he seemed to bring his head even deeper in the fridge.

“Dressed doesn’t mean not... hey, whatever, I’ll find the ketchup alone. You two go.”

We shared a look, both grinned, and left Jean alone in the kitchen as we walked to the front door. It was bright and warm, and birds were chirping joyfully. I looked back right before Jean became out of sight, but he was still impeccably hidden.

When the door closed behind us and we went down the tiny stairs, she nudged my sides.

“Do you think he’ll ever unsee that? The boy looks pretty shaken. You sure he knows what sex is? He looks like he’s just caught his parents having sex in his own bed.” 

“You know what, Hitch...” I said, too amused to hold back a thousandth smile. I would never have thought I’d be the first, in this miserable Chicago house, to be caught having sex with a girl – or with anyone actually. “I don’t think he will.”

Connie’s backyard was accessible from the side so we didn’t have to walk through Connie and Sasha’s house. But mostly, I wouldn’t have to take the risk of ending up face-to-face with Eren, leaving the toilets or whatever. Even with Hitch by my sides, I didn’t want to.

It was insane, and probably stupid, but there was something strongly intimidating in his eyes since that night. Something constantly daring, and somehow offended, that I couldn’t quite catch or understand – a hint of resentment and bubbles of bitterness. Though I wasn’t any better.

“Smells good,” Hitch stated. I sniffed the air and nodded.

For a mediocre cook like Connie, it smelled pretty good.

However, they were all in the yard. Chilling, talking and elbowing each other, even those who hadn’t really met before. Thomas was there, sympathizing with Sasha, and I realized they’d make good friends. Connie was arguing with Eren, who, surprisingly, was deprived of any Levi around, but I didn’t allow myself to hope – the guy could still show up any minute now. Mikasa was there, too, with Annie at her sides, who spotted me instantly. Annie’s got a crazy eagle sight.

She nodded my way, but didn’t bother walking my way or greeting me out loud. I was already more than lucky she’d acknowledged my presence; not sure she’d done that with Jean or Connie.

Hitch didn’t move away from me, which I felt grateful for, because Eren noticed our arrival at the same time. She must have sensed the cold, because she glanced at me and elbowed me, too.

“Hey, don’t mind him.” 

I didn’t know when she’d noticed the problem between the two of us, but I felt pretty thankful she had. It meant I wasn’t alone, and it meant she’d eventually help me escape if things turned out bad. She’d even help me find an excuse or initiate it herself, as I knew her. 

“Hey, I’m Hitch,” she added to Mikasa’s words when she introduced her to Annie.

Annie kept a pretty straight face, and only slightly grinned, but when I arrived at her level, she gave a full one, still discrete enough, but on her face, unusual enough for me to notice it.

“What’s up?” I lamely asked, and she shrugged her tiny shoulders around.

“I don’t like the sun much,” she replied, and that’s when I realized Annie only wore black. She was now tattooed, and the long lines snaking their way up to her neck from underneath her shirt were just as black. She had a black leathered jacket, and black lipstick, but hadn’t anything other than that on her face, which somehow made her even... _punker_. “I’m hungry, though.”

She was probably sweating loads, even though it didn’t look like she ever did. In fact, if anything, Annie didn’t look more human than that – she reminded me of those punk, dark Barbie collections with perfectly platinum blonde hair and a pale skin, deprived of any freckle, scar, pimple or dead skin. I guess it added to her... _unmovingness_.

And overall, Annie had quite a style. It’s only today that I noticed her shoes; black platform boots, too high to be the usual shoes you’d find in the shoe shop around the block, and too aggressive looking, despite their simple black, mat leather, to be trendy. She could kick anyone’s ass with it. And without it, too. 

Mikasa was wearing a _Coca Cola_ shirt, red and cropped at her navel, followed by black ripped shorts I’d never seen her wearing before. She had her black hair untied, falling in cascade on her shoulders, whereas Annie had a simple humble bun she didn’t even care about, with blonde strands trying to escape and another one falling back against her temple.

The two of them together looked hardcore. Almost a shame not everyone knew about their status, or whatever they’d call fucking in Mikasa’s bed four times a week. It wouldn’t seem so at first, with the distant way they’d live their life, even at the same place, even a meter away from each other. But they’d often share looks, quiet and knowing, as if they always agreed to hate the whole world and have a silent opinion on everything only the both of them would be aware of.

This discouraged many to talk to them, beyond the polite, standard small talk which sounded like a second nature around here.

We were all fluent in it.

Sasha was joined by Connie, and she wrapped a caring arm around his waist. Connie was slightly smaller than her, and the general contrast between them always looked funny to me.

“Come on, the salads are ready.”

Those who were the hungriest or the salad-addicted ones rushed to the table and chose their seats. The sudden realization that I might end up next to Eren froze me instantly, which is probably why Hitch took my arm around her tiny yet firm hand and led me to one side. I guess she didn’t want the dinner to end with a fight, which wasn’t even nearly likely, given Eren was only faking interest, affection and care. The rest of us probably didn’t see any difference, between Eren was a good actor, and because I didn’t have the balls to say anything about it.

“Ah, salad,” Eren faked his joy as he sat down, to my horror, right in front of me. We met each other’s gaze but I looked away. “Do you want some, Armin?” he then asked, and my blood froze cold. He was testing me.

“No.” Dry, short, efficient. He must have given himself a break, because he turned to Mikasa, and offered it to her.

A part of me wanted to leave, another wanted to stand my ground and make _him_ leave. 

Annie sat next to me, close, because the table was quite tiny and Connie had invited more people than planned. Thomas walked behind me and tapped my shoulder as a greeting, he already had his marks here. I wasn’t surprised, as I said, Thomas is way more social than I am. 

At this moment, Jean came back walking fast, cheeks slightly red, and I knew why when he met my gaze and nervously smiled. Damn, fucking Jean.

“Why the fuck were you so long Jean?” teased Connie as he sat down in his turn, and Jean, still standing, went pale. “I bet you were jacking it in the toilets.”

Hitch and I laughed instantly, hard and loud, that kind of laugh that needs a reason. The others chuckled lowly, and Connie looked at us with suspecting eyes. _What happened?_ he seemed to ask, but we didn’t answer.

“Didn’t you bring Levi, Eren?” I heard someone ask, and turned to see it was Connie again.

My face went blank and this time, I looked at Eren without any fear. For some reason, it made me mad. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Yeah, Eren, why didn’t bring Levi?” I almost added compliments like, he’s so fun to be around, or he seems to know how to use his dick, because I’m sure he didn’t want them knowing about his sexuality. I’m a good friend, though, so I kept silent and kept the anger in.

“He couldn’t make it,” he simply said, and proceeded to cut the meat Mikasa had put in his plate. He didn’t look that much convinced, and a part of me doubted he ever asked Levi to come.

And all of sudden, something kicked me in the inner thigh. It was Eren, if the way he subtly stared was any indication, and he must’ve aimed for the knee. Surprised and irritated, I thought of kicking him back – nobody would notice. But then, when I realized he was blushing from the missed kick, way more intimate than intended, I figured I could use something else, something more brutal. 

I locked his gaze and Eren, probably sure I wouldn’t try to fight back, relaxed in his plastic chair. At the same time, slowly so that I wouldn’t fuck up like he had, I stretched out my leg, until my feet subtly hovered his crotch, and the touch was ghostly, too ghostly, in fact he didn’t even notice at first. But then, I pushed hard, and it must have been more painful than arousing, according to the choking sound he made.

He coughed around, Annie unimpressed at my sides, and everyone thought he’d just choked on his food. I grinned, which went unnoticed. Thank god.

Eren frowned after that, and the conversation going around the table kept everyone distracted enough for the both of us. Maybe Mikasa would have sensed something was wrong, but not the nature of the fight itself, which to me as well seemed like a mystery.

I wanted to keep my foot there and tease, but Eren kicked my shin and I bit my inner cheek. _The fucker_.

Before I could do anything other than fulminate in silence, he stretched his own leg and I realized with horror that he’d taken his shoes off, and with his socked feet, reached for my groin through the terribly thin material of my exceptionally worn gray sweat pants. And he didn’t kick me in the balls, no; he just put his feet against my crotch and waited a second to see how I’d react. My eyes widened, even without any pain, and when I met his eyes with anger he began stroking. Fucking _stroking_.

My heart raced faster and I could feel the blood already beating in my ears. Still fresh from Hitch and I’s misadventure in my room, I was sensitive and it didn’t take long for Eren to win, when I felt a bulge calmly growing in my boxers. I was mad, mad that he could allow himself to do that, again, and mad that I was letting him do that, showing without a word the effect he had on me. Was it a game to him? Was that the reason why he’d cornered me in the bathroom the other day?

For a second I thought of pushing my hair away and leaving, which I knew would be the wisest outcome of this. But I didn’t, and deeply angry, unmoving, I remembered Eren was wearing shorts, and aimed for his own crotch without even bothering putting his own leg away. 

I’d taken my shoe off with the help of my chair, and I was barefoot now; but when it met Eren’s groin, I was left petrified. There, as if it was the most normal thing ever, was already a well-maintained bulge which beat mine easily. His face darkened, he bit his lips brutally and choked down a very obvious moan everyone could have confused with pain. Sasha assumed he’d hit his knee under the table and they all joked around, except me, because I instantly took my foot away.

I looked down at my plate and decided I wasn’t hungry. But I had invited Thomas, could I leave like that rudely, without any explanation? I was sure Hitch would help, but I didn’t want to tell her why in the end.

Eren had taken his leg back, and he wasn’t looking at me, in fact, he wasn’t looking anywhere, and for a second he looked like was trying to disappear. 

I felt angry, and confused, because I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know why we’d started this in the first place, and how exactly it had turned this way, nor did I know what I was going to do about it. For once, Eren looked vulnerable, and I could have exploited it by mocking him with a bitter tone of lift my foot back up against his boner. 

I didn’t want to, though, because Eren was my best friend, and I was sick. Really sick. I wanted to throw up.

It’s not quite that I was disgusted – I was dizzy, and sleep-deprived, and deeply unnerved. I hated him so much for that.

“I’m not feeling well, I’ll just... excuse me guys,” I blabbered as I pushed off my chair, and Hitch gave me a worried look, just like everyone else except Eren, who kept his eyes down his still full plate. The food looked good no more.

I turned around swiftly, aware I had this semi thing going on, and rushed to the portal to cross the road and go back home. Packing sounded even more exciting than this fucked up barbecue. I should have gone home earlier, and by home, I mean my _real_ home.

That’s what I intended to do.

When I left Connie’s backyard, I swear Eren looked like he regretted already.

 

*

 

“Hey, are you okay dude?” someone asked, and although I was sure Hitch would appear in the doorframe of the open toilets, it was Mikasa who appeared. “You left quite... fast.”

The toilet seat was down and I’d been sitting on it for five minutes or so, now. Or maybe more, or less, I’d lost all notion of time, and I was already dead.

“Armin,” she pleaded with a worried look as she leaned against the doorframe, casually enough to make me at ease. Still, I remained unmoving. “Talk to me. I’m your best friend.” 

Yeah, and Eren was too, and look what had become of us.

Nothing good. Nothing _sane_ or anywhere near healthy.

I hadn’t talked face-to-face with Mikasa in a while, so I figured I could use it. She knew me well enough that I wouldn’t need to answer half her questions. She might not even need to ask them.

She still did, though. Softly, as if she could break me anytime. And face deep in my hands, I wasn’t looking up.

“Is the salad that disgusting?” she said, and it’s only after a second or two that I understood it was joke. Or rather, when I looked up and caught her smiling.

She was trying to lift myself up, which I felt grateful for, but she couldn’t understand.

“Do you want help with your cartons?” I knew that was meant to make obvious the fact that I wasn’t feeling good. I was too distracted to pack, and this time, there wasn’t Hitch. Mikasa was a smart thinker, she barely needed to try.

“I can’t.”

“Make your cartons?” 

“Talk to you.”

“Well, you are.” A silence, and I heard a smile without even checking. “See, that’s easy. Really, though. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I just want to be sure you are okay.” 

So I asked myself: was I okay? 

 _Yes_.

No, I wasn’t.

I wasn’t _sure_. 

Maybe I was?

Fuck, no, not at all.

Mikasa sat down the cold tiles, her profile facing me. That way, we didn’t have to look at each other, and her smaller than me stopped making me feel oppressed. It felt like I had all power in my hand, the one to talk, the one to listen, and the one to run away.

“You know, Annie’s having a hard time.” 

I cringed, thinking it was one of those moral stories I didn’t want to hear. This one is sadder than you, this one is more allowed to be sad than you. It applies to pretty much every circumstance, and it never helps.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“No, really. She’s in a gang. She’s sorta... the leader of it? I guess. Whatever you call that.” 

I frowned, looked down at her unmoving skull. All I could see from there was black hair and the tip of her pale nose.

“The thing is, gangs have rivals, it’s just like in the movies. So sure, her gang is pretty much her family, and gang members are usually black sheep at home, so that’s how she ended up in the street with them. But they’re still criminals, no matter how unfair it is to call them that, it’s technically, well, legally that. She’s been arrested quite a few times, and next time is probably female jail.” 

I listened, patient. I’d never imagined those things about Annie. She’s tough, but you wouldn’t guess. That’s because she’s more quiet than violent, at least in events like these. I wondered what she looked like when she was breaking shop’s windows and tagging the town hall, beating up crook’s asses and drinking their way through the night.

Suddenly, I realized how different Mikasa’s relationship with Annie was from what I’d imagined in my head, and I was aware of all the things I didn’t know. I understood what she liked in Annie; there was so much to learn about her.

“The other day, she fought with some guy from another gang. He was like... twice as tall, twice as strong. She’s good at fighting, she’s fucking gifted at it. I think she should have won. But she didn’t, and she came knocking at my door with blood all over her face because she wouldn’t dare going back home. See, the guy knew where she lives and she didn’t really want him coming over with the rest of his gang to finish the job.”

I pictured Annie bleeding from everywhere – the nose, the lips, the mouth and heavily bruised. Although it would probably look sick as fuck, reality was harsher. This look, as badass as it might seem, hides inner injuries and fractures which take weeks, if not months, to heal. There’s nothing pretty about that. 

“Do you know why he beat her up?” 

I waited, quiet. Realized I had no idea.

“He called her a dyke.” 

She looked up, searching for my reaction, but I was blank. Those things – I would never have imagined them.

“It’s not that she’s afraid of her sexuality. In fact, that’s the contrary, but it hasn’t always been the case you know? I mean sometimes she looks like she’d fight people to defend all the lesbians’ honor.” She laughed, I liked the sound of it, familiar, delicate, safe. “But when this happened, it was her own pride she was defending. We were already seeing each other, and rumors go really, really fast in the streets.”

She took a deep breath. I guess that’s some things they hadn’t told many people.

“She stayed in my bed for five days.” She rubbed her eyes wearily and I thought maybe I wasn’t the only one unable to sleep at night. “She was aching, coughing blood and not even able to sit up straight without my help. Worse, even, she didn’t want me to look at her because she felt insanely weak. I mean, shit, Armin, my point is that she only told me about what had happened days ago. All this time, I didn’t know what had happened, until she’d learned to accept herself the way she is, enough to tell me about it.”

“Are you saying I’m gay?” I muttered all of sudden, because I couldn’t make another link than that with my situation.

“No, Armin, I’m saying you should talk to me okay? No matter the subject. You should know I’m not one to judge,” she added with a smile, because after all, she was just as gay as Eren. It’s only now that I noticed it, despite knowing it already. I guess that’s a Jaeger thing.

“Here, come on. I’ll help you pack your things. I’ll even drive you to your parents’ place if you want, and help you clean. I know how your mom likes it neat." 

I hadn’t seen mom in a while, now. Mikasa bringing her up felt strange at first. I think in general I’d spent more time at my grandpa’s than at my parents’. It got to the point they’d decided to make a room just for me, in the tiny house my grandpa still lived in.

It would have been easy to hate my parents if they weren’t the kindest people I knew. Having mixed feelings about your parents is the worst, because you want to hate their guts so bad, but you just can’t, because then they come up to you and you realize you love them. Mikasa didn’t really have this problem – she’d always gotten along with both Carla and Grisha, but I guess her story is way more different.

Eren, though. I think he’s always had problems with his dad from as far as I remember. It got only worse when Carla died. He loved her so much. But I know he loves him, too.

“Don’t worry about Hitch,” she said. “I asked Sasha to drop her home. As for Thomas, I think he’ll stay a bit longer.”

Her amused frown confirmed my guess; I suppose Thomas had a some more friends now. In fact, I was happy of this, because it meant there no longer was a divide between my college life and the rest. It looked... easier. Homogeneous.

“Thanks, Mikasa.”

“Please,” she said, and we both got up.

 

*

 

At night, I felt softer.

I’d told Mikasa I was walking to the baseball field we’d always play at together while she watched TV in the living room full of covered furniture and messy cartons. I’d been here for a good quarter, I’d say.

Eren, at my sides, had just sat. At first I’d thought of leaving, or telling him to go fuck himself. But as I said, I’m softer at night.

I guessed he’d asked Mikasa where I was, and I also guessed Mikasa considered it would do us good to take a break.

“I’m sorry, man.” A pause, and I closed my eyes, trying to breathe the fresh air like it was the first time I’d do so. “I’m sorry. Can we... forget about all this? Stop this stupid fight. I don’t even know what this is... I just want you back okay.”

A _fight_? It hadn’t been a _fight_. It’d been a goddamn  _war_.

I stayed silent a moment, just to enjoy the way Eren got nervous next to me at the idea of me never signing his Armistice. I could choose to go on that way, bitter and angry, and blame him for all we’d experienced these last few days. But truth is, I wanted him back, too. I was willing to take the risk of this breaking out again.

“I thought you’d never, you know... ask.”

He opened his mouth, and I knew he was about to clarify it wasn’t him asking for peace, giving up, holding his own white flag. But he knew I was this close to shrug him away, so he remained silent and bit the bullet.

“Well, I’m asking now.” And that was it, he was putting his pride aside to make it stop.

That’s what made me look at him, finally, and his eyes were so much softer than they had been for weeks. It’s almost like he’d never seen me before, like he was discovering me, and the night, and the tiny stars barely shining overhead.

“I have another favor to ask you,” he murmured, and looked away with a frown as if he knew it could make me angry again.

“What kind of favor?” I dared, careful.

I wasn’t saying yes, but I couldn’t refuse without knowing what it was about. It was too raw, too important. Eren never asked for favors, not this kind of favors anyways.

“I’ve been... well. Hm.” He played with the front bangs, dark and messy on his forehead, to distract himself from me. Trying to get rid of the nervousness, which was insane, because we had rarely been nervous around each other before this whole thing started. “Can you just...” he lost his words and, tentatively, almost as if my skin would burn him, he put a warm palm on my folded knee. The touch was as simple as this, but in the silence of the night, it was way more intimate.

“Can I what?” I asked, again, and it sounded like I was encouraging, which I wasn’t sure I was or not.

I wasn’t sure of anything. I wasn’t even thinking at all. Neither was he.

“Just...” he tried, helpless, and this time his head turned perfectly my way. We were facing each other from the side, his palm still on my knee. The baseball field felt even more lonely at night. It felt as though we were the only ones alive. “Armin can I kiss you? Just once. Don’t ask me why, if you don’t want to, then it’s okay I’ll just... leave, and whether you accept it or not I’ll never ask again, promise.”

There was a pause afterwards, almost like he hadn’t expected to say it so quickly, to say it at all. Bracing himself for rejection, he looked down, and my heart beat a little faster.

The only answer I found was a lie. I’m horrible.

“I’m with Hitch, you know.”

I was frowning, as if trying to push him away as softly as I could.

“I know.” 

He took his hand back and couldn’t ignore the way he shut himself off from me. His inner protection mechanism were probably fully working by now.

“And you’re... with Levi, aren’t you?” I hesitated. That’s not a question I thought I’d ever ask, and I hadn’t planned to, but at this very moment, it appeared like it was necessary to clarify it. I needed to know if I had to be angry, if I had a reason to be selfish.

“Yeah.” A pause, too much silence. I feared he’d hear the blood in my ears, pumping wildly. “I am.”

I was terrible, searching for answers I didn’t want to hear, helplessly pleading for reasons to hate him. He knew it, though. He could feel it, and everyone could feel it. It’s not even that Levi was a bad guy, in fact, he was pretty cool, and he seemed to care. That, I could get used to. 

But there was something odd, like a long-time nostalgic feeling I refused to let go of. I didn’t want to see Eren go, not for Levi, not for anyone else. Which was selfish of me, because, in the end, I was the one leaving.

For a week, sure. But still.

“Please, Armin,” he asked again, but this time his voice was shaky, and when he turned to look at me in the eyes, I smelled the distinct fabric mark of alcohol. He’d drank. Judging by his state, right now, he’d drank _a lot_.

I knew there had to be something to put his pride aside. There’s nothing more vulnerable than a drunk man.

They’re also dangerous, which is funny, because they have zero notion of danger themselves. But the only ways Eren could hurt me tonight were his words, and I wasn’t willing to leave like that.

I didn’t want this to be my last memories to fall asleep with. I could do better.

“Eren...”

“No, it’s okay, never mind—”

“Eren shut the fuck up will you?”

He stilled, surprised and frozen in place.

“Don’t fuck me up like that. You can’t just come around here and ask for a kiss and then tell me to forget about it. People don’t do that okay? It’s fucked up, it’s wrong. You’re a jerk.”

I was being harsh, but I was being honest, and I knew he’d rather hear me spit the truth than whisper lies.

He was a jerk, indeed, a filthy one. But I wasn’t an example in the category either, I guess.

“OK. I’ll kiss you.”

“Now?” he asked, unsettled, and I wasn’t sure if he was backing off or making sure there was no misunderstanding.

“Now.”

Followed the most awkward moment of my existence, during which both of us stared back, trying to figure out if there was a signal anywhere, if we were going to kiss here and now. I hadn’t told him to, after all, and we were too proud and shaken to make the first move.

“Armin,” he called me, and his eyes were strangely wet. I wondered if he’d cry.

I hated when drunk people cried.

I couldn’t understand why he wanted to kiss me. Me, of all. He could have anyone, and he had Levi. Why couldn’t it be enough, and why had he chosen his best friend for a humble, meaningless kiss? Drunk like that, he could just ask anyone around.

But I sighed, and bit my lip, and met his fragile eyes. He looked so weak.

I think somewhere along the way, I have the cue he’d been waiting for, because we both grabbed each other’s face and carefully pressed our faces against one another’s, without even kissing. He seemed to ask for permission, which I didn’t want to give, because it would mean too much. I wanted him to force it, I wanted him to deprive me of any will and choice so that I wouldn’t be able to regret it later. I wanted to be able to blame him for all those sleepless nights.

And he did, he did force it, softly enough to make sure I wasn’t going to back off in a second. But it wasn’t our first kiss, and the realization of it made my guts twist in every way, as Eren put his slightly open mouth to mine. He was shaking a little, so I put my hands above his, held them in place, and I guess a tiny part of me didn’t want him to let go just yet.

It was the good time for rain to fall in any romantic movie, but this was no romance, and it was no movie. In fact, the air was still just as dry, and we heard nighthawks howling in the distance.

Eren asked for my tongue and I didn’t quite give it – instead, I opened my mouth and he found his way to it. We kissed in silence, a very humble kiss which wasn’t excessively good or bad or anything at all. Our tongues touched, and he deepened the kiss, wanting for me, wanting to get closer, as close as he could ever physically get; our chests touched and I felt his hand getting firmer around my face.

I felt hot. In fact, I could even distinctly recognize the horrifying feeling of a pearl of sweat rolling down my spine.

And just like that, he parted. He let go of me, and of my hands in the process, and he breathed calmly without a look my way. I was almost sure he’d thank you, but he didn’t. He just... stood up. He fucking stood up, and he left.

As Eren left without a word, lazily enough to show he wasn’t feeling good, I found myself hoping he’d lied as I had. The crushing weight of hope and optimism, on the very border of naivety, could signify my downfall, but I was okay with it, and it was pure suicide.

There’d been no agreement, no word, no explanation, just a kiss.

My fingertips hovered my lips and I was reminded how much of a good liar Eren is.

When I came back home, even though I knew this would be a huge mistake, I asked Hitch out with a text.

She said yes.


	15. the one with the hangover and the ride home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin's moving back to his parents' place, without his parents, for now. Meanwhile Eren's a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe how hard it is to write this sometimes. Not technically write it, but come back to it after a while of working, of sleeping, of procrastinating and pretending this story doesn't exist. 
> 
> It's still a perfect mess but I'm slowly figuring out what to do with these clueless boys. I want it to be as messy as it would be in real life: senseless, full of meaningless fights and taking more time than it would in a TV show or a Sparks' movie for sure. 
> 
> http://oxymorts.tumblr.com/

Stumbling to the bathroom, I fought for vision.

So far I’d tripped on an empty carton, a thick pile of dirty clothes, a single combat boot, two bags, the big lamp I’d use to read at night, and slipped on a sock or two. The end of a charger had been stepped on, which pretty much _greatly_ fucked my heel up.

Eyes half-closed or half-open, I disgracefully sat on the toilet seat knowing the door wasn’t locked. Whatever, I assumed myself alone.

I didn’t remember what day it was, or what time it was, and I didn’t know for how long I had been sleeping. My head was dizzy, the way you would expect it after a night of careless drinking – it felt barely attached to the rest of my body, slowly drifting from side to side before falling forward back again. My shoulders they were tense, and I couldn’t really feel my arms anymore; I put my head in my hands while I did what I had to do, and sighed deeply as I tried to recollect any useful memory from before passing out.

In fact, I didn’t remember a thing. I remembered shit.

Except, maybe, a thing or two. Brief and sort of vague, but still somewhat there, like souvenirs of an ancient past, saturated in color and deprived of logical chronology.

My elbow fell off my knee and I hit my head against the wall in a second.

I knew I had to eat something, drink water to sober up, and the only thing I would agree to feed myself with in this very moment were cherry tomatoes, yet, the last time I had eaten some in such a post-drunken haze, I’d thrown them up an hour later all over Connie’s torn secondhand couch.

A deep wave of heat ran up my spine and I loudly cracked my back, too desperate to take my shirt off in a poor attempt to relieve myself from the temperature. I blamed it on the alcohol.

“Fuck.” I could barely feel anything, body-wise.

Last night, I’d finished cleaning the house with Mikasa’s silent help, and she had then offered a gentle dinner which had finally turned into an alcohol fuck fest more than a dinner. Through thick layers of headaches and sleep-deprivation, I cringed at the possibility of me getting things out of my chest after a few drinks, and even more at the possibility of Mikasa remembering it. I wasn’t sure she’d bring it up herself, because she was respectful and polite, too nice to embarrass me, so I would probably have to ask her myself, which didn’t taste like good fun in the back of my mouth.

Excuse me, Mikasa darling. Have I told you about that one time Eren and I rubbed our genitals to orgasm? Or that one time we gave each other a boner under the table, right next to you, in the daylight? Nice, well if you didn’t know that already, here ya go. No more secret.

I wasn’t going to tell her. I didn’t know _why_ – I didn’t fear Mikasa _telling_ , or judging in the slightest way, but I didn’t want to admit it, aloud and publicly, and to recognize anything in her eyes as she’d take it in. I didn’t want to find pity there, or sadness, or deep disgust. Moreover, once I would pronounce the words, I would feel further attached to it, as if somehow, backing off was not an option. I didn’t want to make it a decisive trait about myself, to make it permanent and official to our eyes.

I was a goddamn wreck, and I was never good at managing my emotions, which, I assumed, was a thing about hypersensitive people.

“Mikasa?” I called, but my voice broke halfway, and it tingled a bit. “Mikasa, you there?”

I heard something roll, fall down, and roll on the floor again, and it had been in the middle of the night, I might have been scared by the lonely, calm sound of it. However, it was very early, early enough for the sky to look grayish, half-clear, half-dark. I loved this time of the day, it was quieter and strangely enough the best moment to fall asleep.

In the best case, Mikasa was passed out on the ground, incapable of even opening her eyes, much less remembering anything about what he had talked about, if we had talked at all.

In the worst case, she was a bit drunk and would run on Aspirin the entire day, enough not to bring anything up, which probably was my case since I hadn’t felt so fucked up in a long time: drinking à deux is more efficient, quicker, it hits harder. My best bet would be her priorities: in any case, silence, peace or imminent death.

“Mikasa?” I tried again, not much louder but with more curiosity. I felt dumb, talking to myself in tiny toilets as it echoed around me, but in such a state she couldn’t have gone away. How many times had I jerked off in this narrow space as a teenager – thinking my bedroom wasn’t a respected space enough, and that the bathroom was off limits due to sound reverberation and family clothes – or slept next to the toilets waiting for my nightly anxiety nausea to come down? Or out.

Now I was older and I didn’t feel less fucked up. I had the same amount of friends, if not less, and I sure as hell didn’t feel any better, more confident, or smarter. The proof in image: I was hunched on the toilet seat, eyes wet from tired, drunken tears and body sore from all the things I had unconsciously done. I’m not just talking about last night.

I got up and grabbed what was left of our toilet paper, in other words, nothing much – but I checked to the side and it seemed to be the last one. With a sigh, I took the few sheets and bent forward to wipe myself. For a second, I felt my legs getting weaker and almost hit my head against the wall again, barely dodging the doorknob. Man, wiping your ass when you’re drunk is an effort you need to go through in order to understand.

I pulled my boxers up again with a wince of disgust and wiped my nose on my forearm.

The house fully plunged in deep silence, I walked downstairs to the kitchen. Sure, I was a finger away from throwing up in the sink, but I couldn’t ignore the painful traffic jam in my insides telling me to eat and fast. On the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, covered with bread crumbles, was my phone, alone and cold, probably turned off due to dead batteries.

Tentatively, I pressed the ‘home’ button and much to my surprise, the screen lit up a bit. It was obvious I had turned the luminosity down to save the battery, there was only 8% left.

Within the last six hours, I’d received four texts.

Two from Hitch, which I believed as I checked our last exchanged texts, were the sequel of a conversation we must have had viva voce. I couldn’t replace the context, even as I read the messages.

One from my dad, telling me they wouldn’t be home until late in the evening, which is the dad translation for ‘in the middle of the night’. I was OK with this news. In fact, if anything, I didn’t really want them to ever arrive to their destination; I wasn’t used to having them physically here anymore. Or here at all.

Didn’t mean they were bad parents. They just didn’t feel like they needed to be there, and I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Then, one from Eren. When I recognized his name on the screen, my stomach hurt briefly – whether it made me sick or excited, I wouldn’t be able to tell. For sure, though, I was scared to read what he’d sent.

I clicked on it, and three fucking words appeared, big and ugly, bright despite the dim screen.

_Where are you?_

Where am I? I’m home.

I looked at it for a minute, left palm flat against the dirty table, holding the weight of my own sleepy body as I zoned out a bit. What could I possibly reply? Did I want to reply anything at all? Well, another mystery. His text was the first of the four, from about 2 AM. Somehow though, I was sure he’d answer instantly if I did, and I wasn’t quite ready to talk spontaneously. Not today, at least not now.

I was way too hungover for that.

I locked my phone and rubbed my eyes with my right hand. My whole body felt sore and abused, and alcohol hadn’t helped – to be honest, I felt like closing my eyes forever. Death would be more peaceful.

Then, it hit me. I had four classes today, four fucking classes at university, which hadn’t seemed to be a problem yesterday night, apparently. I was barely able to move my head without feeling brutally nauseous and dizzy. I had two hours of German, and an hour each of Philosophy and Political History with half an hour of break in between. A minute later, I was already weighing which lecture I should skip.

I wasn’t going to cut classes, but I wasn’t going to go through them all either. I had to make a priority list out of students total, urgency, and my own interest in it.

“You’re awake?” From my left, a choked voice. Barely woken up.

It was Mikasa, black hair messed up all over her pale face and pink cheeks. It was obvious she hadn’t slept well, nor long, and with a rush of affection towards her, I pushed the open chocolate cookie bag her way, to the other side of the table where she now clumsily stood.

She brought the heel of her hand to her left eye and rubbed hard. “Yeah.”

Her eyes were still screwed, hardly open, and she was scratching her head lazily, the fabric of her t-shirt then lifted up above her belly button. She was wearing red lace panties and a bleach washed black tee.

We hadn’t played strip poker – in fact, I’d known Mikasa for so long that partial nudity wasn’t a problem.

After a moment, she realized what I had done and said “oh, thank you” as if remembering my presence at all, and when she looked up with tiny, bloodshot eyes, she tried a meek and feeble smile I knew might be her last today.

By now, I couldn’t tell the difference between being hungry to death and wanting to vomit my insides. And that was all without even thinking about Eren’s text.

The kitchen was pretty dark, windows only giving the gray light of waking skies, and a strip of orange light coming from the still on streetlights outside, reflected on Mikasa’s face.

“What time is it?” she asked. I had no idea.

I pressed the button on my phone, but my vision got too blurry to read the numbers when they appeared on the middle of the screen. By the time I managed to read the first one, the screen had gone dark, and I had to press the button again.

“7:43.” Just when I said it, the minute changed. Then, the screen faded back to black.

7% left.

Mom and dad were supposed to come home today, and I felt bad. Really bad. I felt hideous, and miserable, and I lacked too much of everything.

Motivation, inspiration, excitement. Affection.

I was ridiculously alone, even with Mikasa in front of me.

“Do you want me to cook something?” My voice came from deep inside, cracked and hoarse, hardly mine.

She seemed to think about it for a moment, wondering if she should let me, if it wasn’t dangerous to let a drunk man cook. Now that was my house, and my kitchen, and she knew I could cook some stuff. More than Jean and Eren reunited could ever cook anyways. Still, she looked like she was trying to weigh the pros and cons of my offer, and eventually, she stared at her feet with a frustrated frown and nodded.

Mom’s fridge was practically empty. In fact, there were in it only the things Mikasa and I had bought on the way yesterday to make sure we would have something to call dinner. Eggs, a tomato, a lemon, a bag of grated cheese, and some shrooms.

I made the ugliest omelettes and we sat on the couch, where she’d apparently slept, wool covers halfway on the ground. We turned the TV on, and it was the early TV news, but since my parents were always away, we only had about three free channels.

We ate in content silence. It lacked salt, and my stomach lacked courage, but I finished it off my plate in two minutes or so. With her fork, Mikasa toyed with the yellowy pieces of eggs.

“Do you wanna stay here today? You can.”

After a while, she looked up. “No I gotta head home. Afraid I might throw up on your parents’ couch if I don’t, eventually.” Well, reminded me of something déjà-vu.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I remembered the first time the three of us had gotten drunk. It was here, with my dad’s hidden bottles I thought would be subtly ‘borrowed’, the brilliant idea of an ignorant and inexperienced teenager, and Eren gave back the entirety of it right on the couch.

We told mom and dad, the next day, that Eren had caught some sort of vivid gastroenteritis and mom thought it would make a good occasion to buy a new couch. I think the tiny stain of red wine on the carpet gave us away, but dad never denounced us.

However, I doubted they’d buy a new one, now. Not worth the investment. I wasn’t even sure they’d ever sit on this couch ever again.

“Urrh, don’t remind me!” She cringed, brought the fork to her lips. “You got any plans today?”

I shrugged. Didn’t seem like plans to me. “Uni.”

“Sucks.”

This seemed to mark the end of our conversation. When she ate up, we agreed to stay here until both of us couldn’t anymore, which meant until Mikasa felt like she could drive and go home, and until I was forced to go to uni. Bless evening classes, I guess.

Mikasa took a shower, and I fell asleep on the wool covers while they aired a documentary about turtles on TV.

 

*

 

“Have you heard?” Thomas called gently as he stopped at my level. “Political Hist is happening, but German’s called off.”

What? Had they really cancelled a class? Rumors of such things were a common thing in uni, mostly untrue, but mostly desperate because the students themselves liked to convince their own sleep-deprived minds that they weren’t going to suffer hours. As a matter of fact, a cancelled class could brighten any badly started day.

I couldn’t allow myself to hope for it. I was in too much of a need for it to be a rumor. “You’re kidding me, everyone’s here.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz they just sent the email. I think some are gonna lose their minds, not in the good way.” Thomas gave and amused smile. We both had the same classes afterwards, but some were here only for German. Which meant they’d come here for nothing. “Sure telling us at the last minute really sucks, but it’s fucking nice, though.”

I raised my eyebrows. It really was called off.

“Show me,” I asked, and at the same exact time, as he’d guessed I would ask for a proof, he handled me his phone. “Coffee?” I suggested.

“Coffee.”

In fact, I didn’t want coffee. I wanted to sit and close my eyes, which I could have done just fine in German after all. We walked to a campus-related coffee shop down the street, so we wouldn’t have to take the bus or car, and settled in the free booth next to the front door. The bell rang and the waiters behind the counter briefly glanced our way, but they seemed pretty busy.

Fortunately for me, and for my eyes, the gray of today’s morning had stayed, leaving the city strangely lonely and cold-looking, even though the temperature was good. It looked as if it were going to rain, which would have been the case, but everyone dared to wear short sleeves, Thomas first. I only had an old plain burgundy cotton tee, which I’d borrowed from my dad just for the sake of it, and because the shirt I’d worn last night reeked of tequila. I had clothes in my luggage but I didn’t felt like unpacking yet.

Not that it would make things official here. More like I was too physically fragile for such a task today.

Sitting there, both tired for different reasons, I thought I wasn’t thirsty. Still, when a boy came to us, cheeks red from the exercise he must have been doing the whole afternoon, I murmured, “Iced-tea.”

Didn’t really like tea, but iced, it was OK. Thomas took a coffee, namely, something very local he had to wrinkle his nose in order to read on the displayed menu over the counter to pronounce right. There was no Starbucks here, but many coffee shops estimated they would make good equivalents. I didn’t care.

“So, two hours free, hm?”

“One and a half,” I corrected. It wasn’t exactly true, either, we’d barely spent a quarter walking here and making our minds up. But I liked to give a marge so that we’d never be late anywhere.

“One and a half. Sure. Got plans for tonight?” Sickly, I looked up at him. Would he dare to invite me to a party tonight? Oh, lord.

“I’m not going drunk any sooner.”

He frowned, chuckled lightly, and the waiter came back with the iced tea. His eyes lingered on me for a second, but I ignored it and he disappeared, wiping his palms on his purple apron. “No actually it was more of a video games night. A geek date between you and me.”

I took a second to imagine it. Thomas’ place seemed nice the way he’d so often talk about it, and he had a great range of video games way too nice and new for the store I worked at, that I’d gladly try out. Nonetheless, the painful cramp in my stomach was an efficient reminder.

“Sorry, dude. I got pretty wasted and I’m not up to anything. Ever. I might just die on the way home.”

His lips formed a gentle curve as his own brand of smile, which I appreciated. Thomas was a great kid. He wasn’t against sharing anything, and he liked to give people space. Funny, not too smart yet not dumb either, he was pretty average in everything, which made him likeable in great amounts.

“Tell me if I’m wrong but you got quite a new group of friends yesterday, hm?”

“Yeah, about that...” I looked away, certain he’d ask if I was okay and even worse, possibly, about the reasons of my hangover. Somehow my eyes drifted to the young barista and our eyes locked awkwardly for three seconds more than usually recommended with strangers. “Hadn’t you told me your friends were fucking stupid? As in “fucked up” and “not good to be around”, and “not the best candidates for a culture G TV show”. You’re a pretty good liar, either that or you’ve never looked at them closely.”

I knew he was exaggerating, as he’d often do, as I’d often do myself, it’s in human nature. I didn’t think my friends were dumb, but most of them weren’t exactly brilliant, and the majority was made of college dropouts or people too afraid to face society. Which, surely, I couldn’t blame; I was no better.

“I know.” I brought the glass to my lips, but added before taking a sip, “quite lucky over there.”

And I meant it, I think. I had Mikasa, and Hitch, and Eren, I also had Connie, and Jean, and Sasha, and now I had Annie, which seemed to me like an amazing dream, because Annie is usually the person you’d pray not to make an enemy out of, and I’m exactly the type to accidentally do so. For some strange, unknown reason, she liked me, and I liked her too. That’s as simple as that, and that’s how you make most friends. Weird to think about it. It’s just a bunch of people who you, at some point, decided you’d like. Some you couldn’t, some you stopped liking, and some you’ll never stop liking. Pretty random for a universal bet.

“Don’t trust them, though,” I didn’t mean it in the general way, more in a friendly way. Saying this, I assumed he was in to stay. Maybe they’d adopted him. “Don’t participate even if Jean or Eren ask you to, and by participate, I mean take part of their pranks game, which I’m sure will finish at the ER again. Do not let Eren prepare you drunk cocktails. Sasha’s with Connie, off the market. And also you better not try to flirt with Annie, not if you care about your two hands and the third one between your legs.”

Thomas chuckled again, bumping lightly against the back of his seat as he did. He sounded like winter coffee and worn out library books. He also gave off a strangely universally friendly vibe, orange-scented and very bright. He was the cool guy you could invite to anything, at anytime, and who you could tell secrets without fearing to see them ending up in someone else’s ear. He’d make a cute boyfriend, affectionate and fun, and I wished him to find a great companion.

Just like that, I turned to the counter, in search for a cute girl he could ask out. “This girl’s pretty cute.” There was a pause, and as Thomas didn’t seem to notice or ever reply, I looked at him. “Don’t you think, Tommy?”

He gave back my stare, nonchalantly, before a few seconds went on. Eventually, he frowned, and his eyes went bigger. “What? No.”

I raised my brows again, offering an accusing stare. He was so easily to unsettle.

“I mean—yes, she’s cute but—no!”

“Ah, yes, very clear Sir. She’s been looking at you weirdly for a few minutes now. I guess that’s how waitresses prove their interest, or girls in general, isn’t it?”

Thomas had no idea, in fact, and neither did I. “Sure, haven’t you spotted Shy Boy at the corner eyeing you like you’re a fucking $500 bill?”

Laughing at first, I followed the swift move of his chin. But then, I crossed the boy’s eyes again, and my law fell a bit. He had to be kidding me. No, couldn’t. He couldn’t be, right? What would be the chances of a guy being attracted to me? No, no.

I had Hitch now. I knew it was a lie, and Mikasa knew it was a lie. But I had her still.

And just when I was coming to terms with my damned attraction to some close boy I didn’t want to see, a cute waiter was eyeing me, freckles all over his face, and the purple apron making the pink cheeks pinker?

“I’ve never doubted in your skills and knowledge about girls, buddy.” That was a lie, he was mocking me. “But I’m quite the boy expert here. My brother’s gay.”

I turned to him violently, more than I would have liked, and shot him an angry look.

“I’m not gay, Thomas.”

“It’s okay if you’re bi.”

“I’m not—” but I stopped, because we both knew I’d be lying if I’d gone further. This way, I hadn’t explicitly lied, but I hadn’t proved him right either. The boy was cute, indeed. It didn’t help when I realized he had a bit of Eren in him: dark hair and clear eyes, brave but looking away when feeling insecure and attacked. Would Eren possibly be a ‘type’? Would he be ‘my type’? Jesus _Christ_ no.

“I have a girlfriend,” I pointed out, as if it would make me untouchable. Lord knows it wouldn’t, and it sure didn’t help tons of guy to flirt with other girls, if not more. Girls, or boys, funnily. How many married men discovered their gayness once they were married with three children? Some people find it disgusting, I find it sad. All this time, they weren’t true to themselves, they weren’t happy. So, guiltily, I added, “he’s cute, but I have a girlfriend.”

Didn’t make me less guilty, because I knew Hitch could never be more than a best friend to me. Worse is when I realized I might have let that boy ask for my number if I hadn’t asked Hitch first. I felt horrible, and terrible, because it wasn’t of _liking boys_ that I was now afraid, but of being attached to Hitch in such a conventional way. Why had I done that?

But I knew the answer too well. For Eren. I’d done that for Eren.

“Threesome, possibly?” Thomas suggested, and with the expecting eyes he had, I knew it was all a big joke. Except for the waiter and ‘OK’ part. I hoped.

“Shut up, will you?” I got his laughter as a response, and the when the waiter arrived again with his coffee, somehow aware we had been talking about him, all flushed and ill-at-ease, I looked away under Thomas’ fresh, renewed laughter.

I was starting to realize why I didn’t believe in marriage or long-term relationships.

 

*

 

We got the tiny grocery store in the corner and I bought stuff to clean up the traces Mikasa had left at home. Then we’d headed back to uni, where I decided to skip the last lecture. As the cancelled German class had given me two free hours, I only had to go to one. Winner winner, chicken dinner, right?

_Want me to pick you up? I crave those vinegar chips I found in the gas station behind the water tower_

I had just received a text from Mikasa, and felt a wave of warmth running through my veins. I loved receiving this kind of attention, small and stupid, but still, it made me less lonely. Made me want to live things. Mikasa knew just what I liked and how I liked it, in other words, night drives and night talks, and I’m sure she had already planned to pick me up before I’d even answered.

Philosophy had ended later than planned, and it was already half-dark outside. Not the cute half-dark, but the lonely half-dark with reminded me of winter school nights. I went to the toilets before Mikasa would arrive.

The water tower was a big, ugly thing in the already ugly landscape of our South Side, industrial enough to leave marks of it everywhere. It was far from home, in the sad suburbia under gray bridges and around abandoned squares, and even further from the center, where university and all the trendy coffee shops were located. It was an element we had all accepted into our everyday view, although we didn’t see it that often, but behind it was the highway, with cheap gas stations and a direct road to pretty much everywhere but here.

We liked to go there because the gas stations were always empty and calm. No one there, no tourist, no traveler; who would bother to come by?

I wasn’t sure if she’d bought the chips yet or if we were heading there, but both were fine with me as it would mean a long drive. Long, as in longer than the bus.

When I left the bathroom, reeking of cheap cleaning products and chemicals, I received a text from Mikasa saying she was in front of the parking lot, waiting for me. I walked there at a quick pace, not walking, but definitely not running, and when her red _Peugeot_ came into frame, calmly parked on the side of the usually well frequented road, she put her head outside of the open window and turned my way to wave me hello. She’d been waiting for me to appear in her rearview mirror to do that. Cute.

“Hello captain,” she said as I eased myself on the passenger seat. The engine was off but she had the radio on, very low. “Did well at school today?”

“Shut up,” I smiled and closed the door. She smiled in return and turned the engine on. “A two hour lecture cancelled, another single class skipped, I think I did pretty well.”

If we’d been years younger, Mikasa would probably have stopped the car and talked me down. She would have told me I was on the way to waste my youth and future, to step on my hopes for a good, respectful job, and the opportunity to shine in society. But we were grownups now, and she knew that was all bullshit. Sure a diploma could help, but I was going to have it, if only I decided not to drop out. This wasn’t the problem.

I almost threw my bag of stuff on the backseat, before noticing it was full of packing things, of cardboards and useless shit. Instead, I put it at my feet. Just then, Mikasa grabbed another plastic bag from nowhere and it landed on my knees. Food.

She shook her head lightly, I noticed she was in a really good mood, but before I thought of asking for the reasons why, she gave me a warm, tender look and smiled again. “Say, shouldn’t we do this more often?”

“What?” I paused, looking around. “Eating in a car after school, at, like, 7 PM?”

She nodded, brows raised expectantly. I chuckled, rolled my window down, chuckled again.

“I mean if I could live that way, I would.” I thought of all those days spent dreaming about an escape trip to the route 66, with no time limit, no anxiety, no red light. Shitty motels and cheap gas station food. Sunsets and flies driving you mad. I’d like that, even the downsides of it. “It’s a nice life.”

“It is.” She smiled, in a very ghostly way, which looked sad from the side. “I’m going to drive somewhere no one can disturb, like, far. Will you feed me chips?”

She really was in a good mood.

“As long as you don’t drop it on my hand covered with spit and spices.”

“Come on,” she laughed, so brutally I almost got startled. “Don’t tell me spit and spices are things you dislike,” and with that she gave a sideways glance, as if to show she wouldn’t buy it.

What the fuck was she talking about? A drop of sweat started to form in my lower back, before realizing it might just have been Jean telling about how he’d found Hitch and I ready to have sex on my own bed, in my own room. Couldn’t be blamed for his bad habit of not knocking, which I’d always reproach, but never do, either.

“Oh... that.”

“Yes, _that_. You’re a wild one, Armin.” I blushed a bit in the darkness, but there wasn’t enough light for her to see. She’d probably guess anyways. “Not that I ever doubted in you, I’m just, glad you joined the rank.”

“Are we talking about having sex, Mikasa?”

She didn’t answer, instead, turned to me with a wide smile that was so close to turn into laughter. I made a desperate sound, between the grunt and the moan, which could have sounded sexual in another circumstances; here, though, it only meant how helpless I felt with friends like that. It’s OK. I liked it.

“No, seriously, though. She’s a cool chick. I’m glad.”

I stayed silent for a while.

Hitch was a cool chick, yes. I was an asshole, however.

Although things weren’t as serious as others made it to be, I didn’t like hiding this shit to Hitch. Fact is I didn’t really like the idea of telling her, either, or telling just anyone. Telling what, anyways? There was nothing to tell. Eren wasn’t mine, not anymore, he was... gone.

“I’m glad for you and Annie, too.”

She glanced to the side again, and stayed silent as well. I wondered if there were things I didn’t know, too. It didn’t seem so.

“What do you think about being gay?” I asked when we reached the counter of another gas station we’d decided to stop at. Food shortage in the car. She offered me her back, and I guessed she was taking the green bills out of her wallet before she lazily rested her hand on the counter.

The guy wasn’t here yet for some reason, and I realized regular punks would have stolen this. I looked at her closely – a punk, yes, but an engaged one. She’d gladly punch a guy but wouldn’t leave without leaving money too.

“Is this a tricky question? I’m bisexual, Armin.” She turned halfway in my direction, giving a puzzled look, as if she was trying to see right through me and understand why I’d go around asking such things. I didn’t quite know myself, I guess it was mixed curiosity and interest. Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like to be Eren, maybe I wanted to know if I could call myself that even a bit, even no one knowing. Aside from Reiner being ambiguous all the time, I’d never really befriended gay people. Now I felt like they were everywhere, and it felt strange. “Lots of people are. Bisexual, I mean.”

After a sigh, she went on. “That’s more common than you think, even in a dead-end town like ours. Some don’t even know they are, and I know gays who’d surprise you.”

I almost asked who she was talking about, my inner unhealthy curiosity getting piqued again, but the guy walked through the backdoor to the counter, and registered what we’d brought in our arms. It only took a few seconds for him to put it in a bag and give her the change, but I already felt like I didn’t have the right to ask Mikasa anymore.

Surely, I wasn’t part of the community, and Mikasa was part of many things. I was never certain these were things I could understand, much less ask.

When the door of the gas station shop closed behind us, however, she searched for her keys in her pockets with her free hand and resumed our conversation like we hadn’t been interrupted. I was easy to read. “Depends on whether you’re talking about gay gay, or gay girl.”

Gay gay. I guess that’s what Eren was. A gay gay. A gay guy, a guy who liked guys. It’s awfully short for a summary, but that was pretty much it, right?

“Hm. Both, I suppose.” That wasn’t much of an answer, but I wanted to know. Was there even a difference between being a gay girl and a gay man?

“There’s a huge difference Armin. You can’t just put it in the same basket and call it ‘gay’. Sure the concept is the same but in practice, that’s literally nothing alike. We only have the appellation and the marginalized community in common.”

Oh, well, much for me. I felt stupid and looked away, but she went on anyways, pace slowing down when we approached the car. There was ours, and two others on the parking lot.

“I’ve always felt like gay girls have a privilege. Some girls are intimate by nature, you know what I mean? Sometimes you can’t tell if they have a great, great friendship or if they’re dating, or even attracted. When there’s chemistry there’s all you need.”

Mikasa opened her door and it took me about three seconds more to get to mine. Then we slipped inside and instead of turning the engine on, she turned the radio back on, still low, and relaxed in her seat as she put the food between us, her door still open for air. Her face brushed my shoulder as she turned to check the backseat; she smelled of fruits and summer.

“I guess that’s also why so many girls don’t know they’re gay as fuck, or just bi. Most never ask themselves this kind of question, especially in places like this, and with families like ours. But I mean, Grisha’s cool, and your parents never seemed to me like the type to be straight up homophobic, there’s way worst out there.”

I listened to the song. I was a popish, summer-sounding song I wasn’t sure I liked, but I tapped my palms on my thighs in rhythm anyways. Catchy at least.

“In today’s society, it’s more difficult to be a gay man because there’s a constant notion of domination and submission. Did you know there were gay men in Ancient Greece? It was allowed, and it was even normal, but it was well received only if you were the top. Smell the deal yet?”

“Does Grisha know?”

“That Eren’s gay? Hell no, he doesn’t. I’m not sure Eren even admitted it fully himself.”

I noticed I’d never had this sort of conversation, and feared I’d broken Eren’s secret before remembering Mikasa had always been good at reading us. We were fucking secondhand, fragile open books and she’d do it effortlessly, almost tired of it. Made me fear my own secrets, and I wondered if she knew.

But what were they, even? If I called these things secrets, there might be things I needed to admit myself as well.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t tell me, but I guessed.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, that’s what I think. But that’s not what everybody thinks, Armin,” she added as she took another bag of vinegar chips and smashed it open. “Remember what happened to Annie? This kind of things happens to gay guys regularly, no matter where. Makes you scared to the core to be who you are, and some even try to un-gay themselves.” After a pause and a shared gaze, thoughtful and attentive, she smiled. “I don’t think that’s possible, though. That’s certainly not healthy anyways.”

Gloomily, I wondered how many suicides for such causes there had been. Many, undoubtedly, and it puzzled me even more. I thought of Connie and Sasha, living a healthy, conventional heterosexual life, sharing a shabby house, fucking in missionary positions in their regular-sized bed. Normality seemed to slip away with the days and the weeks and everything that came with it – I couldn’t call myself a misfit of my own kind, and I wasn’t too marginalized yet, but I was starting to feel like maybe I didn’t belong in Connie and Sasha’s world anymore.

“Even the sex differs.” She chewed her chips for a moment, and I waited expectantly. Gay porn doesn’t tell you much about that. “I’d say... gay men have more options, which I’m envious of, but as women we’re pretty lucky too. We don’t need condoms or to clean up our asses before planned sex, by the way, the vagina is like a self-cleaning oven, isn’t that metal?”

She chuckled as I cringed, but she wasn’t wrong. The female body had wonders I couldn’t even grasp. They were a miracle of organs and life.

“I read somewhere that women’s genitals are much more sensitive than men’s. Makes for great orgasms.”

“God, did I need to know that?” I cried.

She then smiled, widely, so wide and big I thought she’d start to laugh. But she only grinned and I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head, too. Not surprising of her to talk about female orgasm, and not the first time either. I’m pretty sure Mikasa made a good lover. I mean, who knows a woman better than another woman? Men can give good sex, but women can give the sex women expect to have.

“Women are more equal in some ways, also. To my mind. Since our society’s fucked up, there’s this sickening gap between men and women, and it’s not just the money, that’s printed in people’s minds for the long-run. It shocked our perception so much that bottom gays are considered inferior just because they ‘play the woman’s role’ in bed. Which is insane, right? ‘Cause not that many girls accept to take a dick up their asses, believe me.”

I chuckled and she grinned again. Her smile was both warm and refreshing, like rolling your window down during a night drive. Another look her way and I noticed she was very light. Light and happy, almost, and reachable – which meant she’d smile, cackle and laugh to tears more easily. That’s usually her drunk state, like mine, but I knew she was sober. Just happy.

I put my bet on Annie. Boy, they seemed physically opposite to each other, but in terms of mentality and tastes and opinions, I could hardly point out a single difference. Much less think of a reason why they could possibly argue, break up, or hate each other for life like many exes do.

They liked the same music – riot grrrl, feminist punk and garage rock with hints of anti-conformism and vulgarity, the kind of stuff your parents aren’t on listening to in your rebel teenage phase. Parent-wise, Annie and Mikasa weren’t the daughters you’d wish to have, and I loved it.

And they were open, about everything, and both had a penchant for adventure, or rather, danger? Annie was in a gang after all, and Mikasa liked to buck the rules a lot.

I was envious, from afar. Sure I had Hitch, but we weren’t nearly in love, and we often talked, naked under the covers, skin glued to each other’s, about our fear of never finding our soulmates. The term is ridiculous, and fucking cliché, but if you turn it around you’ll find the best equivalent: the person waiting for you, somewhere, with the same self-destructive tendencies as you, and a chemistry to make you faint. I couldn’t help but imagine the scenario in which I’d never meet mine, or helplessly walk past it, ignorant and unknowing.

I’d always craved intimacy, even as kid, and introverts like me rarely get to explore it. We’re too often too shy, too unlucky to fall in love with the right ones, and we’re left alone, sitting on the bench during the soccer match, watching others live while we’re too afraid to join in or imitate.

Hitch wasn’t as worried as me, because Hitch was generally less worried than I was about everything. I guess she was more of a curious, adventurous one, wondering what her supposed 7 lookalikes did look like, where they were, if they’d succeeded in anything; and what would happen if she ever found her said soulmate.

Sitting on the last row of a gloomy cinema, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a myth. And there wasn’t even popcorn to distract myself from the inevitability of death and loneliness.

We’d gone to see some zombie movie, my favorite type, because they were either excruciatingly dumb, or merely brilliant. I stopped focusing after a while, too awaken by the conversation we’d had in the car while feeding ourselves junk food to death. I stayed there, on my warm seat, thinking about Eren, and Annie, and Mikasa herself.

It left me more alone than I’d expected.

When the movie ended, we stood up and joked around, checked we hadn’t forgotten stuff in our seats, and headed for the exit. We’d been around 4 in the room the whole time. She gave me the tickets as a souvenir, which I appreciated, although I knew damn well it’d join the rest of the paper mess either piled up in my trash, or piled up in my drawers. I wished I was tidied, organized and constant enough to keep track of everything, construct photo albums and preserve entire jars of saved money and cinema tickets.

“Annie called, I gotta pick her up. Her car broke down and she’s late somewhere, didn’t really understand everything,” she said as she held the steering wheel, looking down at her phone. “Can I drop you at home? I mean, Jean and shit.” _And shit._ “It’s closer.”

“Sure.” In moments like this, anyways, can you actually say no? Well, no, sorry dude, can you not? Mikasa’s tiny _Peugeot_ was stuffed with cardboard and shit to drop at the recycling center, and, well, there wasn’t much place for me left. I’m sure I could have come up with an idea to keep the three of us in the car, but I was too tired to fight.

I looked outside the window. It was late, late enough, and I would have enjoyed the ride if I didn’t know exactly where we were heading. Normally, I’d be glad to come home, and the moment we’d turn in the corner of the street, I’d feel this sharp tingle of familiarity that would cause me to feel exactly where I belonged. It’s not that I didn’t anymore, it was more of a “Eren belongs here too” issue.

That sounded so stupid aloud. One of the many reasons why I didn’t explain it to anyone.

She dropped me at the front yard, where the old fence barely held still, where we probably had beer cans lost in the high, un-mowed grass with all those drunken nights, where I’d probably pissed without remembering. The mailbox was punched to the side, slightly falling to the left.

“I’ll come pick you up as soon as I’m done. Get your phone ready, ‘k? Jean’s been sleeping for like two hours, he’ll probably wake up soon. Go to him if you need something.” I made an only half meant smile, and nodded stupidly. I felt like I was a child being talked to, being explained the emergency situations and which aunt to call if I set fire to the house. Yes, mom, you can go. I’m a big boy.

She threw a brief “love you” my way before closing the door, and she drove off the sideway. An instant later, she was gone.

I didn’t knock on the door; I knew better. We never kept the door locked, not in our neighborhood, where they barely bothered to walk to their mailboxes or walk their dogs. Sure we had some local punks, but I’d always been convinced we were the local punks ourselves.

The living room was half-dark. A few lights turned on, usually those we never turned off because of our sleeping schedules and most of all, great laziness. I found my way to the kitchen, sat around the island with my phone in my hand. It felt silent, lukewarm, strangely absent, like no one was home. From time to time, though, I could hear something loud upstairs, like a bump in the wall or something falling on the floor.

Sitting there was as depressing as listening to Alice in Chains’ _Nutshell_. Which was a tough one to beat.

Then suddenly, I heard his door being opened, loudly and without a care, as he’d always do, and he dragged his lazy feet down the stairs. A tiny part of me wished for it to be Eren, but we both know he was out.

“How was the two hour-nap?” I asked Jean.

He turned to me like I was being foolish. “Two hours, I don’t call it a _nap_.”

“What do you call it then?” Surely, Jean had problems sleeping at the right time and in the right conditions, like all of us here. In great insomnia periods, we’d all gather in the living room to watch TV until we’d feel mind-fucked enough to doze off. Jean could fall asleep anywhere in daylight though.

“A night.” He chuckled again, proud of his own personal joke. I shook my head.

I’d be slightly desperate if I wasn’t on the same plane. To be honest, most of my nights on school days turned around three or four hours, if I was being lucky, and I’d get most of my sleep on weekends, between 7 AM and 15 PM.

“So how’s it?” he asked, suddenly, and I wasn’t ready for a question, out of the blue, especially not from Jean; so it took me a few seconds.

“The house? Well, I’ve lived in it eighteen years of my life. I’m quite used to it yet.”

“Must be nice to live alone,” Jean murmured, almost to himself, and I felt anxious for a moment.

“I’m not living alone.” I couldn’t help but think at my parents, and what kind of awkward situation it would be when they’d arrive. My parents were quite extrovert persons, which would make most of our conversation fluid thanks to their special ability to talk about anything, to anyone, for a solid amount of time. Somehow I hadn’t inherited the ability, like most of their qualities. I’d call myself the black sheep if I wasn’t the only sheep of the family at all. “Not really.”

“Still, your parents are like... kinda free. Know what I mean? Free spirits. They don’t like to live in a house, chained by their jobs and their obligations.” I looked down at the cold plate; I’d been one of those obligations for so many years. How could I not know that? I’d kept them here when they wanted to leave, and when they finally thought I was old enough, they dropped me at my grandfather’s, and left. That’s all there is. I wish I could hate them for that. Some nights I ease myself to sleep saying I would have done the same if I were them. “Never seen them stick to the same place a long time. I mean, I don’t know them that much anyways...” and he sort of trailed off, the traces of his nap still making his face’s traits sleepy and confused.

He shut up after that, the same way someone goes quiet after realizing he’s done a terrible mistake. Asking something wrong could be one of those, but really, there wasn’t anything wrong he had asked. I was kind of immune, now, both to my parents’ disappearance into the real world, and to Jean’s lack of tact.

Then he sat at the kitchen island, a yogurt in his hand – he hated yogurt, but that’s the only thing they had left. He looked at me like I was problematic, like something should now be done about me.

“Can I get your room?”

I frowned. Fuck no, he couldn’t. “Of course not, fuck off.”

“Then when are you coming home?”

Home. Coming home. Was it my home, here? I’d always seen my parents’ home as my home. Then, my grandparent’s. Now I didn’t know anymore. It was more of my own home than my home at all. Which probably didn’t make sense when transferred into words, and that’s why I kept it to myself and only responded, “I don’t know.”

I felt weird. Like taking a break from a relationship I didn’t have.

Maybe it was from Eren I was taking a break. Then, sitting here, where I was supposed to be, it didn’t feel much like a brilliant idea anymore. I turned back to the small space that linked the stairs, the entry, the living room and the kitchen, wondering if Eren would show up now and prove me right. The door remained still and the neighborhood infinitely silent.

“I thought those mad dogs wouldn’t shut up?” It wasn’t a question, nor an affirmation; it was barely Jean I was addressing. In the distance, where there would normally be a bunch of dogs losing their minds at any time in the daylight, there was nothing. “Did they die or something?”

Jean shrugged, opened his yogurt tentatively. “I’m not sure. Either their owner moved or, you know.” He mimicked an awkward smile, shook his head a bit, he looked crazy – then he brought a finger to his neck and as I thought he’d pretend to use a gun, he pretended to inject something into his throat. “Kill the boys.”

Well, shit. Wasn’t sure which option I liked the most.

I locked myself in the bathroom upstairs after that.

I felt sick. Not because of the dogs, and not usually, normally ‘sick’ – but sick from deep under, from my guts, from my lungs, and I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. Sick to the point of putting two fingers down my throat and vomiting the sickness out of me. That much sick.

I didn’t feel good as a base, and the traces of my hungover sure wouldn’t help, in fact, I knew I should just go to sleep, but a part of me wanted to stay until I’d seen a glimpse of Eren. That was unhealthy, and it made me anxious, but it twisted my stomach in a good way, a way that’d keep me awake and alert, searching for him in everything, in sounds, lights, in the choked voices in the street. I was mad at him, and confused, and I wouldn’t be able to even look at him in the eyes, but still: I wanted to see him.

Eren had built himself a very secret life. His job at the junkyard, his recent initiation to illegal racing, and most of all, his strange admiration for Levi, or whatever it had turned into. Eren had said they were together, now, and I didn’t quite believe it, more because it didn’t seem strike at Levi’s type than because Eren was a liar. I wasn’t sure Eren had it all figured out, either.

My phone vibrated. I ignored it, held myself on the sink and breathed deep. It vibrated again.

It was Mikasa, apologizing that she wouldn’t be able to come back for at least an hour, and that, if I wanted to come home early, I might as well take the bus. She added she’d make up for it in a way or another.

I sighed, closed my eyes for a long moment. I really was fucking alone in this, wasn’t I? And if spending the day with people didn’t make me less alone, what could?

I swallowed and frowned. The answer was all big and shiny but I ignored it nonetheless. Fuck that.

Fuck _him_.

When I came downstairs, Jean wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. He was sitting against the couch, on the floor, playing the _PlayStation 3_ like he had nothing better to do, which I believed was true.

“Hey, you busy?”

“Not going out if that’s what you’re gonna ask.” There was a pause, I did not answer, and started to panic a little. I wasn’t in the right mood to take the bus, not with all these people I knew would take it too. He might have sensed it, and pushed pause before looking up above his right shoulder. “You okay Armin?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure it was worth saying no, worth explaining. Nobody quite cared, not even I. “Sure, I’m fantastic.”

He stared a bit longer, as if trying to see if I would break down if he dared to push a little. I did not. So he turned around and went back to his game. My throat was sore.

“Why don’t you ask Mikasa?” I could have felt angry, towards the two of them, but they didn’t owe me shit. I should have just told Mikasa to drop me _home_. Or anywhere else, really. “She’d move mountains for you, I’m sure she’ll pick you up.”

“She won’t.” He gave an intrigued look to the side, but went back to his game just as fast when something moved on the screen. He couldn’t do both. “She’s helping Annie out, somewhere.”

I tried my best not to sound bitter, like all selfish men do. In fact, I believed I sounded tired.

“Man I’m sorry I’d gladly drive you there but...” Jean trailed off, searching for excuses that weren’t really excuses. He was in boxers, a chocolate-stained tee-short still on from, I supposed, the day before. Couldn’t remember. “Just, not the day I guess.”

Not the day. I couldn’t have described it any better.

“Chill, I’m OK. Taking the bus never killed me.”

I gathered my stuff in the kitchen and didn’t need to turn around to know Jean was feeling really bad. I was acting like a bitch, forcing him to push himself out of his comfort zone just to stay in mine, and Jean and Eren both knew very well how horrible taking the bus could be for me on bad days.

What’s a bad day anyways? It’s not the criteria. The criteria were: too many people, and too many thoughts. I’d feel sweaty, uneasy, I’d feel strangely inadequate. I’d start to move around, lose focus, interpret every chuckle and grin and distant laughter as directed to me, and I’d fall into a pile of shit and anxiety.

That’s usually how it went. Didn’t have to be a bad day for that.

Jean knew that, and he cared about his friends more than he’d seem to show it. I was his friend, so he cared. Right now, in this very moment, he was probably weighing the pros and cons of staying here and letting me go.

“Hey, Armin,” he said and as I put the strap of my bag across my chest, plastic bag in my free hand, I noticed he’d paused his game for good and gotten up. He stumbled on the floor and stopped near the couch, as if I was a delicate thing to deal with.

He went quiet, unsure of what to add. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m OK,” I repeated.

Neither of us believed that, but he smiled nonetheless, a tired, erased smile that didn’t let much space for honesty. Jean scratched the back of his neck and I smiled in my turn, a bright smile I knew he’d appreciate from me.

It seemed to relieve him a little, so I kept it ‘til I got out.

When I closed the door behind me, though, leaving a Jean in boxers standing in the quiet living room, I looked up to something else. Something precisely staring back at me.

There were Eren, and Levi at his sides, both distinctly of different heights.

“Oh,” I murmured. Not too polite, but it was the best I could do.

Eren didn’t seem to expect my presence, by the way he frowned, in a very, very ugly way. It didn’t look ugly, but it felt ugly; because it was directed at me specifically.

“Hi Armin,” Eren said, and I had to check to be sure it hadn’t been Levi who talked.

He, by the way, offered a short nod of the head. “Hope you recovered.”

“Yeah, yeah, the same goes for you,” I answered as I remembered what had happened on our last baseball play. Didn’t feel like a bright memory in my mind. Levi, nonetheless, was a classy guy.

I felt the breeze on my face and a tiny strand escaped from the messy bun I’d done a minute ago, to crash against my cheek. It itched, and I scratched.

“What are you doing here?” Eren asked, and I knew he was trying hard to stay neutral. What it covered, I didn’t know; bitterness, anger, disgust, as long as he tried to cover it, it wouldn’t show. But it was definitely _something_. “I thought you’d moved back to your parents’.”

“I have.” A silence, in which I wondered what I could possibly tell them. Was Levi here to spend the night? Would they fuck in Eren’s bed, where I so often lied? “Just... made a quick stop with Mikasa but hm... she’s not coming back, apparently.”

I did sound bitter, this time, or maybe very pitifully alone. In both cases, Levi reacted instantly.

“Do you need a lift?”

I looked up and locked eyes with him. It wasn’t more than a dark blue sky outside, so I only saw the biggest angles of his face, but the way his eyes stared meant he was being honest. I appreciated. Eren, on the other hand, had his car parked on the alley; he’d traveled with Levi, and I tried to ignore the fact he didn’t suggest it himself, first, or at all.

Suddenly I was grateful for Levi’s presence.

“Thank you, actually, I’m just gonna—”

“You’re not bothering,” he cut me off, and I felt Eren’s stare on me.

He was almost daring me to say yes.

“Right, Eren?” Levi sought help from him, but then, it happened.

He said, “Sure.” He said the way you talk to someone crazy or disappointing, hesitantly, flatly, with no particular emotion other than irritation.

Levi didn’t seem to pick up, but I felt particularly aware of the way Eren’s eyes followed me to the car Levi had parked where Mikasa had parked hers a while ago. They weren’t necessarily cold, but analyzing, like they were trying to understand what game I was playing. Truth is I’d left the party long ago.

“Go to the front,” Levi suggested, and I didn’t fight.

In the dark, I couldn’t tell what car Levi had, but it was black, and the inside was comfortable. More comfortable than I would have expected it to be, it being Levi’s car. The association and the prejudice were awful, but what can I say? I’m a bitter man.

I caught a glimpse of Eren’s white hair before he sat on the passenger seat, behind Levi. It hadn’t been a shortcut, but it was probably preferable than to sit behind me. It was Eren. I couldn’t say I didn’t mind, because, yes, I fucking did; but I knew him. It didn’t surprise me.

While I was a shy introvert, escaping conflict and preferring to internally complain and call people names, Eren liked it to be public, he liked to show people something was wrong and that he wasn’t going to forget about it. We weren’t actually in a cold, but me moving out was a synonym of fleeing, and he didn’t take it well. Like I had a fucking choice anyways.

Apparently, it was either this or listening as they both fucked, two walls away. I wasn’t going to inflict myself this. I knew better.

“Where do you live?”

“Near the bridge,” I said, and it was enough of an information for now. He nodded.

Everyone knew this area, even those who had never lived or been there before. It was a bridge which casually crossed the entire town, it conducted the train from the South Side to the North Side, and didn’t make for a good morning of sleeping in on a Sunday. But, well.

This area was poor-looking, although the interior of the houses differed from one to another; my parents didn’t lack money, they had just enough, just what they needed. Most of it was their constant change to travel, so I’d eventually had to look for a job, I’m not sure if it’s because I didn’t want to see my bank account unable to see the color of money ever again, or if I somehow feared that my parents would become so broke they’d someday borrow in my account to keep travelling.

But yes. It was mostly dry, short, messy grass there, with chained dogs, dusty cars and no fence. A lake which flew under the fridge near the neighborhood, which would make for a bunch of worried parents back then.

It didn’t exactly look poor, but it sure looked sad. I think the reason why it did was because of the larger yards, the absence of fences, the distance between each house which would make them lonelier and smaller. In the neighborhood where I lived with Jean and Eren, the houses were about five meters away from each other on the side, and some of us didn’t have a backyard. We had a small terrace, raised at the height of our first floor. There were more houses, but distinct from each other, so it made them appear bigger.

At least, to me. It seemed logical. Or maybe it’s just the way I’d learned to see it.

“It’s the street,” I commented when he approached the turn. There was only one turn, he could hardly go the wrong way. “Thank you for driving me,” I added, even though we weren’t near my house, nor parked.

“It’s normal.” I couldn’t really think of a reason why it would. We weren’t even friends. He was just being polite.

“Armin moved back into his parents’ house,” Eren’s voice said out of the blue from the backseat, and I checked in the rearview mirror, guiltily, only to find him arms crossed, looking right back at me. He just knew I’d check. He knew it.

“Temporarily,” I corrected as I focused outside. It was too dark to see much of it, but I’d recognize the view between them all.

I heard Eren chuckle, and it froze my blood entirely. It stopped working, it stopped bringing the oxygen my organs needed. In fact, I could have been dead just right then. Levi looked at him in the rearview mirror like I’d done a second ago, but he didn’t comment. Maybe he’d ask him about it later, in which case, Eren would probably tell him I was a selfish man who didn’t deserve to be driven home.

Eventually, he stopped before the house I pointed. I shook my head as I looked at the dark windows, deprived of any artificial light, thinking my parents should have been home by now if they’d been true to their text. But I knew my dad too well, and at least, I was glad to realize I was right, and had a few more hours to clean the house and get my shit together before they arrived.

“Don’t see no parents,” Levi said with a frown when he bent forward to check the house. No car in the alley, no light through the windows. Sure was no parent.

“They... travel a lot. Coming back tonight.”

I checked the radio board, which read 20:31.

And all I could think was, what was Levi doing at Eren’s at 20:31?

Unexpectedly, he asked, “where are your parents?”

And, even more unexpectedly, Eren said, “travelling.”

He didn’t say it as in, it’s not interesting, please talk about something else. He’d said it as in, stop bringing this up, Armin doesn’t like that.

When I checked the rearview, he was looking away, perfectly aware of his intervention.

It didn’t bring much information to Levi, but it did bring some to me. I knew, somehow, despite the way we were acting, Eren wouldn’t allow Levi to ask personal questions about me, which left me wondering if this post-dropping conversation would actually happen, and if it would, if Eren would bother to answer. For some reason, knowing that Eren was listening closely, and made sure Levi wasn’t exploring dangerous paths that often strangers tried with me, it gave me a bit of comfort. Even if Eren didn’t look back as I got out of the car.

“Hey, thank you for that. That was very nice of you.” I paused, hesitating, as if wondering if I should say something to Eren’s attention. But he was already far in his thoughts. Until this: he got out of the car, too, and my heart went wild, panicking, until he turned around the car before Levi’s attentive eyes, and grabbed the car’s door I was holding, brushing my hand in the process.

And it wasn’t just an accidental, fortuitous hand brushing. It meant something.

What? I didn’t know.

I had no choice but to remove my hand as he obviously was about to close the door. I smiled to Levi, who responded, and Eren still looked away with a knowing frown. He was aware of every fucking thing, every fucking gaze and every fucking word, but he was still proud enough to pretend he didn’t care, much less noticed any of it.

I watched as the car left the alley. My day was full of people driving away, further from me.

Quite pitifully, the only comfort I found, this night, as I sat on the bathroom floor in the middle of a dire cleaning session, was the realization of what Eren’s brushing hand had meant.

It didn’t mean _I’m yours_. It didn’t mean _I love you_ , or _I’m here for you_ , or whatever you want. But it meant my decision of moving back here for a few days, or weeks, or whatever it would become, was to Eren’s eyes, not a decision to take a break and figure things out, but a decision to give him up. That’s what it was, to him. That’s why he hated me.  

It meant: don’t hate me. It meant: please don’t forget about me.

It meant, I was _almost_ sure: fight for me.


End file.
